Looks Like Rain
by deadflowerseverymorning
Summary: Some people are just cursed. That's the one truth in life that Melissa is sure of. She hunts alone, killing as many monsters as she can in hopes of finding some closure for her past losses. But then, she meets the Winchesters. For the first time in years, she opens herself up to love and family. Because if you're cursed, at least you're in good company.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

" **You're Lost Little Girl"** by The Doors

" **He's Gone"** by The Grateful Dead

 **Prologue**

Whatever it was, it needed to feed, or so Melissa had gathered from the evidence. She stood solemnly in her grimy motel room, now not noticing the strong smell of stale cigarettes that had been so potent when she had checked in the day before. She stared at the collage of newspaper clippings and sticky notes hidden behind the coats in her small closet. By now, collages like these took her less than two hours to create. It seemed to her that she had a Wendigo on her hands, although she wasn't quite sure just yet. But all the missing hikers had vanished along the Lost Creek Trail, with no sign of them left except some blood and a few ravaged campsites.

The cycle of disappearances had been going on for years, and it seemed that this time the monster, Wendigo or not, was only just getting starting. The body count was much too low so far. If it was a Wendigo, it would need at least three more people to sustain itself for a another 20 or 30 years. Melissa sighed, then quickly shut the closet doors, turning back to flop on the worn motel mattress. She knew she would have to stake out the trail tonight in order to find out exactly what the monster was, and if it was a Wendigo hopefully just kill it and be able to move onto another job.

She liked it when they were simple, like a quick salt and burn, then skipping to the next godawful motel to at least try and save some more lives. This time she hadn't needed to use any of her fake IDs or her professional gear to make herself a believable FBI agent, or whatever other organization she needed to impersonate, but she still felt exhausted. She turned over and stared up at the yellowing popcorn ceiling. It was still only early evening, and Melissa thought it wise to at least try to get some sleep before going on a night hunt. Those were sometimes her favorite; it was easier for the monsters to lose sight of her in the darkness.

A small smile came played on her lips as she closed her eyes. She hadn't gotten to use her flare gun in a long while, and it if was a Wendigo, she was certainly going to need it.

. . .

An old smell filled her nose, a comfortable smell. The smell of a bonfire. She slowly became aware of her hazy surroundings. The old red truck was parked behind her on a dusty road, and before her was a vast field. The pine trees in the distance seemed a thousand miles away. The sun was beating down and she had a flannel tied around her waist. The bonfire she was standing near did no help in cooling her off. There was no wind, and the air hung with heavy humidity. She looked down when she felt something smooth and hard clutched in her palm. She hadn't noticed at first, but now it felt like her nails were digging bloody divots into her flesh with the tightness of her fist.

She opened her hand with an almost drunken timidity, her mind cloudy. Inside her fist she found a locket. She gasped and suddenly she knew where she was. She looked around in sudden in alarm. _Is somebody watching me? Have I been captured by a djinn?_ She let feelings of paranoia invade her momentarily, before those thoughts seemed to fall right out of her head and she turned her attention back to her open palm.

 _I really am losing it,_ a different, more conscious part of her thought distantly. She couldn't quite sort out where those thoughts were coming from. She felt as though she was between sleep and awake.

The urge to open the locket consumed her, but she kept it closed. The bonfire was of modest size, but its crackling seemed loud, echoing painfully in her foggy head. She made the dim decision to go through the motions of the memory from so many years ago, and then see what was to come next. It seemed too blurry for what a djinn would muster, and too sad. This memory was very accurate. Nothing in her life seemed to have changed for the better. Her wildest dreams hadn't been fulfilled. But she kept her options open, just in order to keep her defenses up if something out of the ordinary came about. This time though, it wasn't with the same sadness and pain that she played out the scene, now all she could feel was the cloudiness in her brain. It was almost numbing.

She tossed the small gold circle into the fire, its thin chain following through the summer air. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her shorts and watched as the fire swallowed the soft metal of the necklace, the picture inside being destroyed in the process. Everything was as she remembered. A few strands of her dark hair had come loose from her braid, and they clung to her flushed, slightly sweaty cheeks in the stagnant air. And as she turned away, the dry grass crunched underneath her brown boots rhythmically, just as they had before.

Only when she was walking to the truck did the memory veer from reality. Suddenly, a little girl appeared before her. There was no white smoke or fog or a sudden _pop_ noise; she was just there out of nowhere. She had long, curly black hair and an olive complexion, and she stood in a tattered white nightgown. There was a river of blood flowing down her front, beginning in the middle of her chest. It was a deep, sickening red.

She didn't look like a normal ghost. There was no ashy quality to her skin. Her eyes were wide and bright with terror, not lifeless. That almost made it worse. It was hard to tell whether she was alive or dead, despite the fact that it would be impossible for any little girl to live after having lost that much blood. Melissa just stared at those lively, dark brown eyes, frozen, wishing to be far away. The little girl slowly raised a stubby finger to point at Melissa and furrowed her brows in anger.

"You killed me, Lissa," the little girl whispered with a mixture of rage and sadness. "You didn't wake up in time."

. . .

Melissa woke up slowly. She propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed the dimly lit motel room. She sighed and let her head fall back onto the pillow with a soft _thud._ She covered her eyes with one hand and let out a shaky breath as she tried to blink away her hot tears. She didn't feel sad or scared, mostly just pissed. No matter how many times she had that dream it always felt impossibly new, and she just wanted some way to make herself remember. Or, better yet, a way to make that dream stop happening altogether.

She swallowed thickly and tried her best to shake off the feelings of nauseating grief the dream had induced. She looked over at the alarm clock on the rickety nightstand: _11:34._

"Fuck," she whispered. She had meant to be out on the trail beginning her stakeout by 10. She clumsily gathered her things and made her way out the door, tripping in the process as she rushed to the old Chevy. She slumped in the front seat, ready to put the keys into the ignition.

Before getting to work trying to get the car rolling, which would no doubt be a challenge considering its age, she unzipped the bag next to her. She searched carefully for her trusty flare gun and felt a small sense of relief as her hand curled around the worn handle and trigger.

"I couldn't forget you, old friend," she said to the gun with an odd fondness as she put it on the seat next to her. The habit of talking to her weapons and car had probably formed through her many years of hunting in solitude. But she shook her head to herself anyway. Sometimes she felt like she was losing her mind. For some reason, the gun gave her a peculiar sense of home. It made her feel better and more secure. She quickly lost any bad taste the dream may have left in her mouth.

Her light eyes were calm as she glanced in the rearview mirror, unconsciously checking just to make sure there was no one watching her. It was something she had learned to do after being unhappily surprised too many times. She felt satisfied when she was only met with the empty parking lot, glowing in the dull yellow light of the street lamp. But still, there was nothing could ever totally silence that creeping sense of being watched that Melissa had harbored practically since the moment she became a hunter. Part of her thought that was one of the most tiring parts of the life. Not the running or the killing or anything physical, but the constant need to watch, to be vigilant.

She straightened her tattered leather jacket and revved the ancient engine. The car coughed only once before starting smoothly, and Melissa smiled as she opened the glovebox. She picked a tape randomly, in the mood for a surprise. The thoughts of her dream were gone completely and replaced by pre-hunt adrenaline. Boy, had she grown to love that feeling. She popped in the tape and smiled even wider as she left the motel's parking lot and the music started to play.

Jerry Garcia's voice crooned slowly through the truck's speakers and Melissa felt an odd mixture of nerves and serenity as she drove down the winding road on the way to the trail. She loved that car. On the outside it looked close to death, the battered metal body covered in faded red paint and rust. But on inside, to her, it was home. It was her most prized possession. It was a classic 1970 model Chevy truck, complete with a crew cab. Being able to fit four often helped on hunts with lots of victims. The car was messy, sure, but so was she.

The windows were down and she breathed in the muggy air; it was a hot night for late autumn, especially in Colorado. She sang along softly as she drove without realizing it, and she tried to clear almost all her pesky thoughts from her mind. She had to stay sharp on a hunt; she had to stay strong. She told herself this mantra almost any time she had to face a monster, although she sometimes didn't get any time to prepare before having to fight them. Melissa knew how dangerous it was to be distracted on a hunt. If she wasn't always paying attention, if her mind wasn't always fully alert and awake, she was afraid she might get killed before even realizing it.

 **Author's Note:** Hi lovelies! (Get ready, this is gonna be long.) This is just a little prologue for my new _Supernatural_ fanfiction. I'm very excited and I hope you are too! As you can tell, this is just a tiny microbe of what the character of Melissa is going to be but I don't want to give everything about her away at once. I feel like _Supernatural_ does that with most of the characters except Sam and Dean, like how we know Bobby for a while before we figure out why he got into hunting.

Also, this is really short and doesn't involve the Winchesters yet so I'm gonna call it a prologue, but rest assured, the first chapter should be up in the next few days! Also, I should just mention a couple of things:

This starts at the beginning of season one with the episode _Wendigo_ , and it will not follow all the episodes, but will cover a lot of them. Also, there are going to be a lot of original scenes in there too, just to spice it up.

Music has always been such an important part of _Supernatural_ , and the soundtrack was part of what really attracted me to the series in the first place. And I didn't feel like this story would be complete without me adding a soundtrack. At the beginning of each chapter, there will be a couple suggested songs that will correspond to the feel of the chapter in some way. It will be old music, and I know that kind of music is not for everyone so if that's not your thing just disregard it. But, if you _are_ interested, I'll put the title of the song and the artist. Just type those into YouTube and I'll make sure there's at least one video of it on there before I post. Also, it will probably take more time to read than one of the songs to play, so I'll put them in the order I think they would work best being played along with the chapter. I don't know, I just thought it would really add to the mood or something. Let me know what you think of that. :)

Lastly, this story is not finished, unlike my last story. I know what's going to happen for the most part and I have a lot of ideas, but I haven't written all of it. But, the writing has been going pretty well so far so I will try very hard to keep uploading regularly. Expect a chapter at least once a week, if not more. I'll be sure to let you know if something changes.

Oh no, that was A LOT. Don't worry, the author's notes will be much shorter in the future. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you're excited for the rest of the story!

PLEASE review to let me know what you think!

Peace and love.


	2. Chapter One: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

" **Street Fighting Man"** by The Rolling Stones

" **This Ain't the Summer of Love"** by Blue Öyster Cult

 **Chapter One** **:** Part One

Melissa almost couldn't hear the Wendigo shuffling around the old mine. Every other noise was being drowned out by the blood pumping loudly in her ears. The monster had been a bitch to find, as it turned out. It was late afternoon of the following day before she had caught a glimpse of it dragging two bodies through the damp undergrowth of the forest as she leaned against a tree, resting. Voices heard in the distance during mid-morning had made Melissa nervous. She'd thought about warning the clueless campers who had stayed in the woods overnight despite the recent disappearances about the true danger lurking behind the trees, but then decided against it. They would most likely pack up their RV and get back to suburban life at some point soon.

She probably should have just approached the nature lovers and told them to get the hell out of the woods. There were plenty of other places to set up shop for bird-watching, or whatever it was they wanted to do. And it was not uncommon for Melissa to pull a gun on people to get them to leave a dangerous area. If it meant saving lives, and getting the job done quickly, she wasn't afraid to scare a few cityfolk. Her gun was always on safety when she used that tactic anyway, but no innocent bystander ever noticed.

But no, on that particular morning she had felt tired from a full night on stakeout, and thought it would be fine to leave them be. Melissa's stomach sank gravely as soon as she saw the man and woman being hauled through the dusky light of the woods, just as she was getting ready to head back to the motel and regroup. She cursed herself now as she watched the Wendigo string up the bodies.

She had not seen one up close in years, and she was struck by its slightly reptilian nature. She'd forgotten about the grotesque scaliness a Wendigo's skin had, and the way it would fade to a sickly gray or yellowish color over the years. Another thing that was surprising about this particular Wendigo was its height. Wendigos often stood at over twenty feet, but this one actually seemed slightly shorter. However, a creature that harvested humans was not made any less intimidating by being fourteen feet tall instead of twenty.

Her hands were shaking and her knees were slightly weak from the adrenaline she was feeling, but Melissa still let the rush wash over her. The rush of the life. The rush she felt whenever she knew she had a monster by the balls.

She felt proud that she had managed to follow the monster all the way through the woods to a door marked: **EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL**. And somehow, probably just through dumb luck (though that was so uncommon for her these days, or really ever) she had managed to go unnoticed all the way down into the mine. She was hidden around a corner crouching behind a large metal minecart, watching the Wendigo as discreetly as possible. It was almost finished tying up the two bodies, among a line of many others.

Some were half eaten already. It seemed from the look of one of the corpses that this particular monster preferred to go for the eyes first. It had turned out to be a long hunt, and she was about ready to get the hell outta dodge. But, she had to wait until the Wendigo was done tying up its future meals. Even if she only hit the Wendigo with the flare, if it was too close to the people it had captured, they could also ignite. And Melissa, sitting exhausted and grimy in the dark, did not need to deal with an underground fire.

She pulled back the hammer of her gun, ready to make her move as the monster shuffled away from its work, and it made an audible click as she stood up straight. She squeezed her eyes shut and her breath caught in her throat, hoping she hadn't been discovered. Her stomach sank when she was met with only silence. She glanced around the corner, and saw the Wendigo standing stiffly, sniffing the air. It froze, then turned around quickly, but Melissa managed to turn behind the wall in time. Still, she knew it had caught her scent. It was still too close to the bodies to shoot.

"Lissa? Where have you been?" she heard the monster imitate in a child's voice. Melissa almost faltered, remembering the small figure from her dream the evening before. "It's so lonely here in the dark."

Melissa bowed her head and sighed inaudibly. Mimicry was one of the Wendigo's most dangerous traits. But luckily, she had done her research and wasn't phased. She also knew that it didn't need to try to mimic anyone, it could just round the corner and eat her. But it was doing it for fun. It wanted to fuck with her. That only added fuel to the fire inside her, and she knew now was the time to kill the bastard. She took just a moment to craft the plan for her next move, and then stepped out from behind the wall, hiding her gun in one hand behind her back. The monsters that were more animal than anything else, driven by hunger and need, were often stupid enough to fall for such easy tricks.

"Nice try," she taunted the monster loudly, and it turned around in a hurry. She saw an animalistic hunger blooming in its dark orange eyes. She smiled wickedly.

"Come and get me, bitch."

The monster charged her, and when it had made its way far enough over to her across the large mineshaft, she revealed the gun and took her best shot without missing a beat. The flare seemed to be absorbed into the creature, glowing orange in the pit of its stomach. The monster look at her almost if she had betrayed it, and then burned away all at once. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. She sighed triumphantly, the exaltation of killing another monster consuming her. Revenge, in her opinion, was never all sweet. But this did feel pretty good.

. . .

Dean couldn't tell where he was as his sight began to come back to him, shades of black and blue swam in his head as his eyes struggled to focus in the dark mineshaft. _Where the hell am I?_ he thought, becoming aware of his raw, bound wrists. He winced at his aching neck as he looked up at them, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of the rope.

He vaguely heard a little girl's voice, sounding like it was underwater in his pounding ears, and tiredly turned his head forward. He was met with the back of a Wendigo. _Dammit,_ he thought, _It fucking captured me._ He continued to curse himself before he saw a slender woman step out from behind a corner at the other end of the room. He could barely make her out with his fuzzy eyesight and the cold, bluish light of the mine.

"Nice try," he thought he heard her say. Then, his heavy eyes widened when he saw her take out a flare gun. He realized only then that he previously thought he was going to have to witness the Wendigo eat this woman out of rage, as he hung helplessly on the other side of the room. But now, he felt only safety at the sight of her flare gun. _She has to be a hunter_ , he thought with slightly naive absolution. Nobody else would be that calm or know how to go after a Wendigo.

"Come and get me, bitch," he heard more clearly this time. He felt the familiar sense of euphoric relief as the Wendigo dissolved into ashes right before his eyes and another evil son of a bitch was dead for good.

. . .

Across the room a man hanging from the ceiling began to cough and grunt as he awoke. Melissa rushed over to him and took out her knife, beginning to cut him down. It was a stretch for her to reach so high and she was standing on tiptoe.

"Are you a hunter?" the man asked groggily, nearly face-to-face with her as she continued straining to cut him down. A moment later, he was finally free. He dropped only a short distance to the ground.

Melissa stood back, a little breathless, regarding him warily. She took in the scuffed boots on his feet and protection charm he wore on a leather cord around his neck. The real kicker was the flare gun she caught a glimpse of in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Yeah," she said, brows furrowed. "Are you?"


	3. Chapter One: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

" **Stranger in My Home Town"** by Foghat

" **Scarlet Begonias"** by The Grateful Dead

 **Chapter One : **Part Two

" _Dean! Where the hell are you?! Did you kill the Wendigo?!"_ Sam shouted into Dean's ear, picking up after only two rings.

"Relax, Sammy. The Wendigo is dead. We're on our way to the hospital."

" _Who's we? Did you find Tommy? Why did you leave Ben and I in the woods?!"_

Dean winced as Sam's grating voice came loudly through his _other_ _ **other**_ cellphone. He sounded pissed. Dean rolled his eyes slightly and sighed into the phone.

"Sam, one thing at a time, dammit," he snapped. "Yes, we found Tommy. He's gonna pull through. Haley's gonna be fine too. We'll meet you back at the trail in like…"

He looked over at Melissa expectantly, and she could feel his gaze on her. "Half an hour?" she said, not taking her eyes off the road.

"...thirty minutes. Just get back to Baby and wait there."

" _What? Did the Wendigo give you brain damage? You're in the car right now,"_ Sam said. Dean could practically see his little brother rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, about that. I'm not in my car. Not even driving, actually. I would have killed that Wendigo…" he stopped for a moment when Melissa snorted beside him at the statement. He gave her a glare, and she continued to watch the road innocently. The relatively successful hunt had put her in a playful mood.

"...But Melissa, this other hunter, did it for me?"

" _Wait what? There was another hunter in this town?"_

"Well, I guess so. I'm in her car right now. I was sort of tied up underground and by the time I woke up the Wendigo was dying and she was holding the flare gun."

" _Um, okay,"_ Sam said, a little wary of working with unfamiliar hunters. " _I guess we'll debrief when you get back?"_

"Yeah, and we gotta take Ben to the hospital. I think we'll probably have to leave Haley there with Tommy," he told Sam, glancing behind him. Haley was sitting with her arm around Tommy's shoulders, his head leaning against her. His face was filthy with blood and dirt, his leg and surely a few of his ribs were broken. He was starved and dehydrated as hell, but he was alive. Dean cracked a small smile seeing Haley look relieved as she was leaning her head back on seat, eyes closed.

" _Alright, see you in a few."_

"Bye Sammy."

He hung up the phone just as they pulled into the drop-off lane for ambulances outside the emergency room.

"Alright, are you two gonna be okay?" Melissa asked Haley and Tommy as they made moves to leave the car.

"Yeah I think so…" Haley said with a small, exhausted smile, helping Tommy out of the car. "Thank you, again."

Melissa only nodded humbly. She felt warm looking at Tommy and Haley, two lives that had been saved. She smiled a little as Dean said goodbye to the two, reminding them that he would be back with Ben later. They both watched silently as the two dirty survivors walked back to safety, out of the hands of hunters and the supernatural. It made Melissa feel strangely melancholy and nostalgic? She didn't know. She felt it almost every time she saved anyone, or watched them walk away. Once they got through the automatic doors into a blindingly white, ammonia soaked building, Melissa and Dean both looked back ahead. Dean cleared his throat a little awkwardly, making Melissa smirk as she pulled away.

"Um...thanks...for you know...saving my ass back there."

"No problem," Melissa replied. "You _would_ have killed it, I'm sure."

Dean's eyes widened in slight embarrassment as she echoed his words back to him. "No, I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry," she interrupted, grinning. "I'm just kidding."

He smirked a little and relaxed against the leather seat, listening as the car roared quietly down the scenic Colorado road. They were around ten minutes from the trail. He looked over gratefully at Melissa Lowry, as she had introduced herself. He'd had no idea there was another hunter on this job. Usually they heard about it when interviewing town officials and whatnot if someone had gotten there first.

"Well, thanks anyway."

"It's alright," she said with a smile. "Do you want some music?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered, watching out the window as she pulled down a dirt road. Tall fir trees on either side of them blocked out most of the light from the setting sun. The sky was a deep orangey pink and free of all clouds.

"Well, I got some tapes in the glovebox, if you wanna pick one," Melissa offered in her slight southern drawl. "And another box full under your seat."

"You're letting your passenger pick the music?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows. For him it was unheard of.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't usually. But other hunters get a pass."

"Well thanks, I'll remember that if you ever ride in my car," Dean said as he opened up the glovebox, expecting mediocre music at best. Not many people these days knew real music.

The glovebox was completely full, and there was no organization whatsoever. This didn't really surprise Dean, though, that car was kind of a mess anyway. But, he had admired the old model upon seeing it after they escaped from the woods. He would have complimented her, had they not been in the process of rushing Tommy and his sister to the hospital. Though the car could have used a new paint job.

Dean was beyond excited when he saw Melissa's vast selection of music. Among the favorites he discovered were The Who, Led Zeppelin, and Blue Öyster Cult. There were however, some less favorable picks in his opinion. The soft rock and blues totally outnumbered the hard rock, including pretty much every Beatles album and A LOT of Pink Floyd. But, for now, he could overlook that.

"You listen to good music _and_ your car is killer _and_ you can hunt Wendigos?" Dean said, astounded. He looked over at her with an impressed smirk. "You're awesome."

"Thanks," she said softly with a small chuckle. She really was proud of her tape collection. She didn't usually meet someone with similar music taste.

Dean reached under the seat and pulled out a worn shoebox when he had seen all there was to see in the glovebox. " _ **Enjoy the miracle**_ …" was written on top in bold cursive letters. He furrowed his brows and Melissa smiled wider, watching him from the corner of her eye. Dean opened the box to discover that these tapes were organized very neatly, each with a detailed label. He spotted one with the title: _**7/9/95 Soldier Field-Jerry's Last Show**_ **!** His face fell as he understood its meaning.

"Oh no," he murmured. "Just when you were starting to get cool." He turned to her with a teasing grin.

"You got something to say about my music?" she asked playfully.

"Are these what I think they are?"

"If you think they're Dead tapes, then yes, you'd be correct."

"You're a _Deadhead?_ " he asked in slight disgust. They only had a couple miles until they reached the trail, at the head of which Dean had told Melissa his car and his brother would be waiting.

"Born and raised," Melissa confirmed proudly.

Dean glanced ahead momentarily, disappointed by his unsavory discovery of the shoebox. He spotted several items hanging from the rearview mirror. Among them were a rosary cross, a dreamcatcher, and a necklace with a peace sign charm. _I shoulda known she was a hippie the minute I got in here,_ he thought to himself. He was only thankful the car didn't reek of patchouli.

There was a beat of charged, pensive silence.

"Are you insulting the Grateful Dead?" Melissa asked in mock horror.

"Not really," Dean said hastily. "I just can't believe you listen to a bunch of acid-pumped hippies." He smirked to himself after that, waiting for her, no doubt angry, response.

"Oh, you did not just say that," she challenged, only a little offended. "Okay, then," she snapped. "What do you listen to, asshat?"

Dean scoffed in amusement at the name, and continued the banter. "For your information, I listen to the world's greatest band, Led Zeppelin. And Deep Purple, and The Rolling Stones, and all the people who play true rock n' roll."

"Okay, Dean, I love Zep as much as the next girl," Melissa started, ready to begin a real debate. Nobody messed with the Dead while riding in her car. _Nobody._ "But you know that pretty much all they did was rip off blues guitarists from the twenties, right?"

"You know all the Dead did was trip balls while they spouted hippie mumbo jumbo, right?" he retorted, loving every minute of the argument. He saw Melissa's face flush in frustration and he chuckled giddily, realizing dimly that he still hadn't even chosen a tape. He looked ahead to see Sam leaning against the hood of the Impala, talking with Ben. Dean felt a little disappointed as Melissa brought the rickety truck to a stop, the emergency brake screaming in protest as she pulled it. _Damn thing needs oil,_ Dean thought at the unkempt state of the vehicle. It almost physically hurt him to sit in an old junker like that.

"Alright," Melissa sighed as she took the keys out of the ignition. "We're gonna need to continue this later."

"Oh, you're so on," Dean smirked. Melissa smiled in response and they both went to greet Sam and Ben. Well, mostly Sam. Ben stood shyly off to the side, ready to get the hell out of the woods that had almost killed his brother.

"Melissa Lowry," she stuck her hand out to the tall man after both brothers had nodded greetings to each other. Melissa was startled by Sam's height, being only around five and a half feet tall herself. Next to Dean, she felt short, but standing across from Sam right now had her experiencing flashbacks to the scene in _Spinal Tap_ where dwarves and stonehenge are discussed at length.

"Our resident hippie," Dean murmured next to her. She smacked him in the ribs with her free hand, feeling surprisingly comfortable with him. It made her feel odd and out of place. She was in no way a shy person, but she wasn't exactly outgoing either. To be fair, though, she'd never met a hunter who was. Come to think of it, she'd almost never come across a hunter with real friends of any kind.

Sam looked slightly confused by Dean and Melissa's little interaction, but smiled warmly at her as he returned the handshake. "Sam Winchester."

"Nice to meet you," she said politely as they broke apart. Then, a realization hit her. "Oh my god...you're John's boys, aren't you?"

 **Author's Note:** Alright, first chapter down, about a thousand more to go. Just kidding. But, I am planning for this to go through at least eight of the seasons. So, we'll see how that goes. Also, I know this was still pretty light on the action and revelations and stuff, but we'll get there. For me, reading and writing beginnings are always like pulling teeth, but soon we'll be in the thick of it. Patience, my wayward sons.

Anyway, PLEASE review to let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading! Please expect another chapter in the next few days.

Have a great day!

Peace and love.


	4. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs_ _:_

 **"If Only You Were Lonely"** by The Replacements

 **"Bell Boy"** by The Who

 **"Hello, I Love You"** by The Doors

 **Chapter Two**

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean nervously, while Dean turned to Melissa in slight shock. He tried and failed to hide the urgency in his voice.

"You know our dad?" he asked fervently with eyebrows raised.

"Yeah...um…" Melissa started apprehensively, pausing to clear her throat. "He helped me out on some of my first cases...saved my life a couple times actually." Her cheeks burned scarlet, and she looked down at her old brown boots. It wasn't often that she told people her real name, let alone anything about her past. Old memories clouded her mind for a moment before she glanced back up at John Winchester's sons.

Melissa was met with only silence and the boys looking worriedly between each other. A heavy tension hung in the air, leaving Melissa to wonder what she had done to create it.

"Is something wrong?" Melissa blurted out, feeling brave. "Is...John...okay?"

Again, neither one of the Winchesters answered. Dean turned to her, looking conflicted. She snuck a look at Sam and thought she saw his eyes getting misty. Dean was about to speak when Ben, oddly enough, beat him to it.

"Hey, um, guys? I'm sorry to interrupt," he said slowly, avoiding eye contact with all three of them. He walked tentatively away from the hood of the car towards them. "But could we maybe get to the hospital? I'm sorry...I just wanna see my brother."

All three hunters turned to him, causing his face and ears to redden immediately. They put on brave, more welcoming faces in an attempt to calm Ben, and Dean walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Sure thing," Dean said with a warm smile. "Just get in the car and we'll be there in a minute."

Melissa felt a little mad at herself, having momentarily forgotten Ben was even there. But worry began to nag at her. _Is John dead?_ she questioned internally as she watched Dean mutter a few more kind words before the teenager walked back to the Impala. _Why won't they just tell me?_

"Hey," Dean said as he turned back to Melissa, "why don't you come by our motel a little later for a beer? We can talk more there."

"Um, yeah, sure," she said, nodding. Dean cracked a smile at her while Sam nodded. She smiled back. "Where are y'all staying?"

"Well...we were gonna check into the Motel 6 we saw on the way here. Like, right on the edge of town coming from the East?"

"Oh, that's where I am."

"Really? Seriously, how did we not know you were here?" Dean asked, glad the mood was light again. "Didn't you interview the park rangers or anything?"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head, "I don't really like those interviews. Usually wait till I feel like I have to. I mean I have to at some point on most hunts. The truth is I really just hate business clothes."

Dean chuckled a little, and even Sam, who had seemed somber since Melissa met him, smiled a little at the joke.

"Well," Melissa said, "You go take care of the kid and I'll call the cops for all those bodies in the woods. I guess it's time to put on my hapless civilian face."

Sam and Dean nodded, and Sam starting walking back to the car. Melissa stopped Dean just as he was turning around, grabbing the cuff of his worn brown leather jacket gently.

"And don't worry about the beer," she told him, letting go of his arm. "I got it."

"You already saved my life, we can get it," Dean said, trying to refuse her generosity. Though she seemed sincere, it still made him nervous. Hunters weren't exactly known for their nice demeanor. But the fact that she knew his father made him feel safer.

"No, really, I've already got some in my fridge. Just come by room 28 whenever you're ready," she assured him. Hospitality was something that had never left her even if she wasn't always working cases in the South. "You can have some even if you are anti-Deadhead."

She winked at him and then turned to the woods, grabbing her phone from her pocket. Dean smirked as she began to yell helplessly at the 911 operator, impressed by her acting skills. He still had a bittersweet taste in his mouth, however. The bodies Melissa was shrieking about finding while following her dog through the woods were painfully real.

He slowly ambled back to Baby. Sam looked at him expectantly as he shut the door and put his key in the ignition. He only shrugged and took off, the engine rumbling loudly down the trail as the sun finally set.

. . .

"Okay, so...he's not dead," Melissa repeated Sam's words back into the air.

Dean nodded, scrubbing his face tiredly with his free hand. Sam only sighed. The three of them sat around a small table at the entrance of Melissa's motel room. It was past nine, and they were nursing beers. Melissa felt especially tired, more than the normal post-hunt fatigue. She suspected it was partially from the long night in the woods, and in part due to the massive amount of information that had just been relayed to her.

They'd basically told her everything from the time John left for the hunt from which he didn't return until the current moment. She'd had to look away from Sam and make eye contact with only Dean during the part about Sam's girlfriend, Jessica, being killed by a demon only a couple weeks before.

"So," Sam looked up from his drink to her, "I guess it's your turn. When did you hunt with our dad?"

They both looked to her and she felt flushed under their gaze. She averted her eyes to the small fridge behind Sam, who was sitting right across from her with Dean on her left. She focused on a red _Welcome to Colorado_ magnet and took a deep breath, thinking back to her teen years hazily.

"Um, well...it was back in I think 1996. I'm from a little town in Georgia, I was living there. It was a ghost...it um-it killed my boyfriend. And your dad, he helped me figure it out. And after that I...told him I wasn't finished. I was pretty angry. So he just-he helped me get started I guess?"

She tried to blink the glassiness out of her eyes and was courageous enough to look back at the boys. They looked sympathetic enough, but that didn't make Melissa feel any better.

"So...what? He gave you cases?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, and he told me how to find them where weird stuff was happening. He helped me hotwire that truck and gave me a gun. We worked the first two together. Though I was pretty shaky at first, and he had to get me out of a bind a few times during those first weeks. It was a skinwalker and a werewolf. Then he was on his way," she told them, finding it a little easier to gather her words this time.

She focused on the light pattering of rain outside. It had begun drizzling before Melissa was even done with the cops in the woods. She probably should have guessed it, given how humid it had been all day. By the time she got back to the motel, it was almost seven. She had taken in her features in the dusty bathroom mirror, dark crescents underneath her blue eyes and her pale cheeks flushed with the heat and stress of the day. She'd taken a quick shower, and there was a knock at her door just as she finished getting dressed. _Never a dull moment,_ she thought to herself now, taking another sip of her lukewarm beer as she replayed the day in her mind. The fridge in this motel, like they were in all the other ones, was crap.

"Have you heard from him since then?" Dean asked, trying not to feel hopeful. Her answer had left him wanting to hear more, but it was easy to see that she was upset, so he decided not to push her too hard.

"Well, not _from_ him. But I've definitely heard _of_ him," she said. "I mean, hunters are a gossipy bunch. Last I heard, he was somewhere in Montana I think. That's all I know. I swear."

"Alright, well," Dean said, standing up and setting his empty bottle on the wobbly table. Without another word he started towards the door. His actions were soon followed by Sam, then Melissa.

"Thanks," Dean said, turning back to her, "for everything. Y'know, the beer and the whole saving my life thing."

"Yeah," Sam echoed with a sincere look. "Um...thanks. Without my brother, there'd be no one to get me across three states in one day and still not get a speeding ticket."

Melissa smiled warmly at him and shook his hand again in goodbye. "It's not a problem. That's what hunters do, ain't it? Save each other?"

"Yeah. I guess so," Dean said with a wry grin. He also shook her hand. It felt oddly melancholy to Dean, but he shook it off. It just wasn't often he met hunters who actually seemed nice, let alone had good taste in music and a history with his now missing father. He wished it wouldn't almost definitely be the last time he saw her.

"Hey," she said, just as they were walking out the door, "I...hope you find your dad."

"Thanks," Dean said solemnly and Sam nodded at her. Then, she shut her door to the warm night, expecting to never see either of those boys again.

. . .

Despite how much Melissa hated early mornings, she could never stop herself from waking up before eight. The motel was about as unwelcoming as she remembered as she slowly climbed out of sleep that morning and slowly got ready for her long drive to cases yet unknown. It was easy to pack up her stuff, having almost nothing in the room apart from a few flannels and pairs of jeans. But, after so long, it was easy for her to travel light. And, it only took her a couple minutes to rip down the collage of newsprint and little notes to herself that she had created in the back of the closet. The coats she used to hide it were often her biggest nuisance when packing up. They were just too bulky. She grimaced a little as she got ready to brush her teeth, having forgotten to the night before. She could still taste the alcohol. She wasn't a heavy drinker, and didn't even like beer, but sometimes she really needed the buzz. So, she kept a six pack in the motel fridge on most hunts. They'd drunk the whole pack the previous evening.

She put her duffel in the passenger seat of the truck, grimacing at the bright sunlight and the stifling humidity caused by the rain the night before. Then, she went back to the motel room for a last check. It was a ritual she had developed since entering the life. When she felt decently confident that there was nothing of her small arsenal left in the room, she turned the key into a very begrudgingly man at the front desk. He was small and bald and wormy-looking. His head was very shiny under the sickening fluorescent light, amusing Melissa a little as she paid with yet another fraudulent card. This one was under the name of one Janis Joplin.

"Was your stay satisfactory?" the worm man asked with angry eyebrows raised as he handed her card back. She smirked in amusement.

To say the man lacked any enthusiasm was a complete understatement. She only nodded at him and then made her way across the steamy parking lot, taking deep breaths in the mid-morning air. Though there had been no dreams during the night, the news of John Winchester's disappearance had unsettled her to no end. She felt on edge. Jumpy. And she was doing her best to stay calm. She felt as though something was coming for her. Something big. As a hunter, she could almost always feel when she was being watched. She felt a little like that now, but not exactly. For the life of her, she couldn't place it.

In another attempt to quiet her nerves, she popped in a Dead tape once she was in her car. She turned the key in the ignition, but sat then for a moment and just listened. She let the music take over her thoughts, and she could hear nothing else but the dulcet tones of her all-time favorite band. To her, it almost wasn't music. It was something bigger. Something elemental.

A sudden knock on her window made her jump and utter a small gasp. She grabbed the gun in the pocket of her duffel as quickly as she could. She turned back in a fury, ready to kill whatever had startled her. Instead, she saw that she was pointing her revolver towards the bemused face of Dean Winchester, watching her through the driver's side. She sighed heavily as she lowered the weapon and rolled down her window, the music still blaring. He was dressed in only a t-shirt and jeans, having walked out into the parking lot barefoot.

"Sorry," Dean smirked, "Didn't mean to scare ya."

"Dammit, Dean," Melissa scolded, turning down the music only a little, "Shouldn't someone have told you by now that you should never sneak up on a hunter?"

"Yeah, but...it's too much fun," Dean shrugged lightly. "They usually look before they shoot. I guess I shouldn't count on you bein' that way, huh?"

"Are you out here for a reason?" she asked shortly. It only made Dean grin wider.

"Why, yes, actually. I'm not just knocking on random car windows as my daily morning exercise. I wanted to give you this," he told her, handing her a small piece of paper. "It's the number to my actual, _**real**_ cell."

"If you're trying to hit on me, so help me God-" she began in frustration, only to be cut off by Dean.

"No, no, no, nothing like that. Honest. I just wanted to catch you before you left. I checked in your room and you weren't there so I thought you must be in the car and I...I owe you now. What with you saving my life and all," he rambled, scratching the back of his neck and averting his eyes in embarrassment. It made Melissa smile just a little. "Anyway, if you're ever in a jam, just don't hesitate to call."

"I'll keep that in mind. I promise I'll let you know if I hear about John or something," she said. Dean nodded and looked to the ground. Melissa decided, wisely, to change the subject. "And I guess I should return the favor, you know, in the _unlikely_ event that you need me to save your ass again."

She rummaged around her duffel for a moment and Dean furrowed his brows. She finally found a pen amongst her other crap and grabbed his rough and calloused hand through the open window without warning. Dean let out a small noise of alarm and Melissa only laughed. She wrote her real number quickly, not remembering the last time she had shared it with someone.

She released Dean's hand and he studied it for a moment, before cracking a wry grin. "Thanks."

There was a beat of comfortable silence before Dean raised his head to her sharply, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Hey, before you go, I gotta ask…" he began, glancing to her. She motioned for him to continue, resting her left arm through the window of the truck. "Why the Grateful Dead?"

She laughed a little and looked toward the speakers, which were only slightly less than blasting. They had to speak quite loudly to hear each other over it, but neither were bothered by it at this moment. "Ummm…" she thought dramatically for a moment. Dean smirked.

She turned back to him with her blue eyes dancing. It wasn't often someone asked her about music. She could have gone on about the Grateful Dead for hours and hours. "They're honest."

Dean's face fell a little in contemplation but he continued to smile at the mysterious answer from a mysterious woman. With that, she put down the parking brake and began to roll backwards slowly.

"Don't be a stranger!" she yelled to him over the music just before he was out of her view, driving out of the parking lot.

He waved after her though he knew she probably couldn't see him. He could tell she was turning her music up even higher as she got farther down the country road on her way to a new case. He shook his head and laughed a little as the red truck shrank from his view.

 _Maybe the Dead ain't so bad after all,_ he thought in spite of himself. He continued watching her until she eventually disappeared behind the rolling hills.

 **Author's Note:** Voila! There's chapter two for you! I hope you liked it! The next chapter will have more action and character building and such, so please stay tuned. Also, there will be more of Dean's (and even Sam's) perspective, I just wanted to do a more in depth introduction to Melissa first.

PLEASE review and let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading and have a great day!

Peace and love.


	5. Chapter Three: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **American Girl"** by Tom Petty  & the Heartbreakers

\- " **Femme Fatale"** by Velvet Underground  & Nico

 **Chapter Three : **Part One

Although most of the cases Melissa had investigated with invisible attackers turned out to just be the witness blocking out a harsh memory or something of the sort, the well had been pretty dry lately. It was good that there weren't too many strange deaths out there lately. But Melissa was starting to get bored. She had spent a week just driving around, seeing the sights a little. Mostly just big balls of twine and lame local attractions. Though the Lizzie Borden house had actually been pretty fascinating. But it was getting cold, and travelling around in the North East during December was near impossible for a southerner like Melissa. So, when she caught sight of a newspaper article about an invisible assailant while having her morning coffee in a little town on the outskirts of Iowa, she thought it would at least be something interesting to do.

So, by that afternoon, she was almost to the town of Ankeny. It was aggressively suburban from what she had seen so far, with a large church in the center of town. Her first stop was to the frat house, which was about as disgusting as one could imagine. It made Melissa glad that she had never gone to college. She spoke with several of the students, asking them about the grisly death of their peer. The police were describing it tentatively as an animal attack, but the student had been found covered in blood and hanging upside down. Even for a bear, it seemed too methodical to Melissa.

After speaking to quite a few of the brothers from Eastern Iowa University, posing as a journalist from the school's newspaper, she finally figured out who the unnamed witness from the article had been. The fraternity brother, Rich, had just started dating the local reverend's daughter Lori, and they were on a date the night he was killed. (She'd had to endure hearing many of the frat brothers' musings about how hot Lori was, and even deflect a few pickup lines herself. They were nauseating.) She was also able to discover that Rich's funeral was taking place later that day at Lori's father's church.

It took only about twenty minutes of driving around to find an inn. The transforming herself into an FBI agent took longer. Though, admittedly, Melissa did often find it fun to transform herself into someone else, it always took her so damn long. She never wore any makeup on hunts because it was just too impractical. And when she had to wear it to pose as an agent it made her feel suffocated and sticky, and she thought she almost looked plastic with it on. It would hide the spray of light freckles that covered almost her whole face and she just didn't look like herself.

And, she often just threw her stick-straight hair into a ponytail or a french braid when she knew she would be going on a hunt. So, this time, she decided to just leave it down and only put on lipstick and concealer. She had been doing that more lately. _Fuck it,_ she thought, taking one last look in the bathroom mirror, _I can make freckles look professional if I want to._

Next, she donned her white button-up with her black suit jacket and pencil skirt. It was her only FBI uniform, and there was a small hole forming in the left elbow of her jacket. She would have to get a new one at some point soon. She sighed thinking about it. She hated clothes shopping, pretty much only ever dressing in jeans and t-shirts, except of course when she had to get in costume. Finally, she put on some black ballet flats. She was never daring enough for heels. She feared she would break a hip. Or her neck. The whole process took about 45 minutes and she guessed the funeral was just about to end as she turned off the light in the cozy room on her way out.

. . .

She caught Lori as she was leaving the church after the service ended. She didn't know what Lori looked like upon arriving, but it was easy to spot her as the young woman hovering nervously around the man dressed in green Reverend's robes. Melissa approached her cautiously, and waited for a little while until the reverend was talking to someone else to catch her alone.

"Excuse me, Lori?" she asked, walking up to the mousy college freshman. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Lori looked up suspiciously and eyed Melissa, but then muttered a soft, "Thank you."

"Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?" Melissa said sweetly, grabbing the fake badge from the inside of her jacket. At this point, using her masterful fake ID was very routine. She hadn't been asked any questions about it in months. Lori looked shell-shocked at the small gold badge and the matching ID card with FBI in large letters, and stood gaping for a moment. She glanced to her father, making Melissa nervous, but ultimately seemed to decide against it. He was talking to a loyal parishioner, after all.

"Yeah, that's um...that's okay," she said quietly. Melissa almost didn't hear her, and felt bad for tricking the girl when she looked into her watery brown eyes. Then, she flashed a bright smile and went on with her act.

Through the questioning, Melissa got a pretty good idea of what was going on, and got the feeling that Lori was actually telling the truth. It was a ghost, she had decided. The most interesting part was Lori's description of the minutes before the attack. Particularly, the sound of the spirit scraping metal on metal as there was a long scratch gouged into the side of Rich's car. She was just working out the kinks of Lori's story when she heard someone come up behind her.

"No. Way," she heard in a gruff voice behind her. She looked at Lori apologetically and then turned around. Her face fell from its act but her eyes lit up when she turned to see the Winchesters, dressed in their normal clothes. Today was obviously not an FBI day for them.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, but Dean only smirked. He sent Melissa a knowing look before brushing past her and towards Lori. Sam followed him once he regained his composure. Melissa turned back in annoyance. She was _so close_ to finishing the interview smoothly.

"Are you Lori?" Sam asked the girl who looked more confused now than when Melissa had introduced herself. _She's probably wondering when she got such a big fan club,_ Melissa thought in exasperation.

"Yeah," Lori answered with a deer-in-headlights expression.

"My name is Sam," he said, "and this is my brother, Dean."

"Hi," Dean said with a casual wave. Melissa, now standing off the the side, rolled her eyes. He was wearing his same brown leather jacket and the protection charm necklace she remembered from their first meeting two months ago. And the same wiseass attitude, it would seem.

"We're new transfers here...to the University," Sam continued.

"I saw you inside," Lori said, gesturing to the church. She seemed a little more at ease talking to people who were posing as her peers as opposed to a Fed. Melissa gave the boys a glare when she heard that they had attended the service. To her it seemed a little disrespectful, but neither of the Winchesters noticed her angry look.

"We don't want to bother you, we just...we heard about what happened," Sam said with sympathy.

"We wanted to say how sorry we were," Dean added. Melissa had to hand it to them, they were about as good at acting their roles as she was. She figured most hunters were; it was a part of the life.

"I kinda know what you're going through. I saw someone...get hurt...once," Sam told Lori slowly. Melissa looked at the ground, not having forgotten the story they told her. "It's something you don't forget."

Lori gave a dejected nod before the Reverend interrupted the conversation. He came over to Lori, putting a protective arm around her hip. Melissa grimaced a little at the shielding gesture.

"Dad, this is Sam and Dean," she introduced them, looking relieved by her father's presence. "They're new students."

The Reverend looked to the boys suspiciously before shooting Melissa a dubious glare. Lori's smile faded as she looked back to Melissa and tried to introduce her.

"And this is Agent Garcia-" Lori began, but Melissa, having had enough of this Reverend already, cut her off. There was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way.

"Sherri Garcia, sir. It's a pleasure," she said confidently, sticking out her hand. She heard Dean snort beside her at her alias, and resisted the urge to look back at him. As always when she was acting as a Fed, she tried her hardest to keep the Southern touch out of her words.

The Reverend took her hand warily. "May I see your badge?" The question was polite at the surface but Melissa could hear the rigidity in his voice. How could his precious little Lori ever be in trouble with the Feds? Melissa had seen stranger things. Much stranger.

"Certainly," she said with a smile, pulling the fraudulent piece of cardstock from her pocket. Sam and Dean watched easily, not for a second worrying about Melissa's fraud skills. Lori, on the other hand, was growing tenser by the minute.

The Reverend seemed satisfied a moment later when he gave a little nod. She put her badge away and noticed Sam and Dean talking to Lori in hushed tones off to the side, no doubt trying to get more insight into what she had seen. Melissa decided to play her part as the Reverend's distraction. So far, he was making it very easy for her.

"And would you mind telling me why you were questioning my daughter without my consent?" the Reverend asked. Melissa's face flushed in anger momentarily, but then she went back to being as professional as she could manage.

"Well, sir, she was the only witness in a very bizarre, gruesome murder. We've seen similar acts in the past, and we're trying to work out whether we've got a serial killer on our hands," she told him, glancing at Lori briefly before she continued. "And frankly sir, your daughter is 18. She chose to speak with me freely when I approached her with my questions. She did not ask for a lawyer, and she answered my questions honestly. Only now am I growing suspicious of her due to your defensiveness."

The Reverend looked offended, but she continued.

"Is there anything else you'd like to ask me, _sir_?" Melissa honestly didn't know what had gotten into her. She was just not one who dealt with smugness well. Lori seemed like a sweet girl, and Melissa had the sneaking suspicion that the Reverend was keeping Lori from enjoying life the way she should be able to.

"No, Agent Garcia. I think that will be all you'll hear from myself or my daughter," the Reverend said to her, eyes narrowed.

She took the hint and gave him a thin smile before turning to the parking lot. Dean saw her leaving and nudged Sam in the ribs, signaling him to wrap it up. They had all they needed now anyway. Lori and Sam were just pretty much chit-chatting at this point.

Sam looked at Dean in annoyance, having enjoyed talking to someone who wasn't his ass of a big brother for a change, but promptly ended the conversation. Dean had already begun walking across the small parking lot after Melissa when the Reverend came up to Lori again just as Sam was about to leave.

"That was a very inspiring sermon, sir," Sam, ever the crowd pleaser, complimented.

"Thank you very much. It's always nice to find young people who are open to the Lord's message," the Reverend said with a smile. Sam said his goodbye and final sympathetic remarks before seeing the Reverend put his arm back around Lori's waist and whisk her away. Sam furrowed his brows at the passive aggressive gesture but would have to deal with it later. Research first.

. . .

Dean ran up to Melissa from behind, noticing how tense she seemed. He cracked a joke instead of greeting her in a boring, normal people way.

"So, Sherri Garcia, is it?" he said, finally catching up to her. She was almost to the rusty hunk of metal Dean remembered as her car.

She turned to him in mock anger, but on the inside was very relieved to see him. "Oh yeah, yuck it up. And what's your most commonly used alias?"

He looked down at the faded pavement, muttering, "Edward Van Halen."

"Exactly," Melissa said with a triumphant smile.

"At least mine is an actual musician," Dean shot back.

"Right, because jumping around the stage to distract from how sloppy your playing is makes you an actual musician," she said. Melissa was actually a fan of Van Halen, but the argument was just too much fun for her to admit it. Dean was getting ready to respond when Sam walked over from the church.

"Hey Sam," Melissa said brightly. He looked better than the last time she'd seen him, given that none of them had just spent a night in the muggy Colorado woods.

"Hey, Melissa. Good to see you again," he said in his easygoing way.

"Y'know, we have got to start meeting under better circumstances," she said, just realizing at it was second time in a couple months that they had just happened to be working on the same case at the same time. Sam and Dean both chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Hey, listen," Dean said, not waiting for the uncomfortable silence that he feared was about to ensue. They still didn't know each other all that well. "We're going to the library for research...wanna join?"

. . .

After discussing different elements of Lori's story, it seemed clear to all three of them that they were dealing with a ghost. They had begun searching through the town's arrest records for anyone who fit the pattern or had a motive, while Dean sat across from Melissa trying to look like he was doing work. He hated research. When hunting with John this stage of things was often easier because his father had so many other contacts that could do the work for them. But with just him, Sammy, and Melissa, they'd have to do it all themselves. _Don't think about Dad,_ he scolded himself, breaking his train of thought. These days, all memories of his father were tinted with unhappiness.

So, instead, he looked to Melissa. Normally, he would have made a pass at her by now, but somehow it felt different with her. He didn't want to scare her away. She was a hell of a hunter, from what Dean had seen, and she had hunted with his dad. ( _You're thinking about Dad again, stupid._ ) That made him feel even more trusting of her. If his dad had seen something so promising in her that he had taken time to teach her how to hunt, Dean knew she was worth keeping around. And besides, it was as good a time as ever to try the whole 'just friends' thing out.

But, god, did he think she was beautiful. What with her high cheekbones and cleft chin and light blue eyes. The contrast between her porcelain skin and her dark brown hair made her all the more striking. Her smile was big and contagious. It wasn't often he saw a hunter with a smile so genuine. It made him wonder more about her past, but he was, of course, never going to ask.

As he was watching her across the library table, he saw her furrow her brows at the parchment below her. She sighed a little before leaning over to rummage through her purse. She was looking slightly disheveled with her hair falling over her flushed face and the top buttons of her shirt undone, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Dean unconsciously smirked at her frazzled demeanor. She finally cracked a victorious smile as she pulled out some square black glasses. She looked more relaxed after she put them on and continued reading.

He chuckled a little and she looked up with an inquisitive expression.

"Buddy Holly fan, huh?" he asked in amusement.

She shook her head. "Not particularly. But, if I read without 'em for too long it gives me a headache," she told him, gesturing to her glasses, reminiscent of a long dead rock star.

Dean nodded. "Dork," he muttered, hastily returning to the arrest records below him.

By this point, Sam had definitely heard their conversation, but he just rolled his eyes and continued reading. Even after only about an hour of sitting with the two of them at the table, he had discovered why Dean wanted to bring Melissa along in the first place. They were like two peas in a pod. However, he did notice that besides the playful teasing, Dean was keeping his usually aggressive method of flirting very mild. He found it odd, but hadn't had the chance to ask Dean about it. Bigger fish to fry and all that.

Melissa also brought her eyes back to her reading material. "Asshat," she said in a nonchalant voice, still staring at the records. Dean looked back up and caught a small smirk form on her face. He grinned widely, his pen resting on his bottom lip as he did so.


	6. Chapter Three: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Folsom Prison Blues"** by Johnny Cash

\- " **Jailhouse Rock"** by Elvis Presley

 **Chapter Three : **Part Two

To Melissa, it now seemed like the Winchesters were very bad at running from the cops. She had gotten away, and she had _told them_ that it was too risky to just wander around in the woods where a murder had just taken place. But no, they assured her it would be fine. And now, she had to dress in her FBI gear for the second time in one day. As soon as she'd heard a rustle in the bushes on the side of the road where the murder took place, she had hidden behind a large tree. But Sam and Dean were too late. So, just as soon as the brothers had been hauled to 'the station' and she could no longer see the cruiser's flashing lights, Melissa got back in her old truck and into her FBI clothes right there in the car.

She was glad she brought them with her from the hotel, and was equally glad they had taken separate cars. She didn't want to have to drive Dean's flamboyant muscle car to the police station. They would never really let a Fed drive that. She wanted to be as believable as possible. The Impala was safely back at the frat house, where the boys had chosen to stay. Melissa nearly gagged at the thought. There was just something about douchebag college boys she had never been able to put up with.

When going to police stations in her FBI costume, on the inside she always felt very shy. As a kid, Melissa was afraid of strangers and tall people and pretty much everyone she didn't see every day. Parading as a federal agent made her feel like she was reverting back to the meek little girl from Georgia she was all those years ago. Obviously, being a hunter had taken most of those traits out of her. So, it made her feel all the more odd to experience that old sense of timidity. But still, she tried to walk with her head high as she got to the police station's front desk and flashed her badge.

"What's this about?" the gruff man sitting in the receptionist's chair asked her.

"I've been called here to investigate the murder of Richard Verona. Could I please speak with the sheriff?" she asked with narrow eyes and a thin smile. The older man raised his eyebrows at the young woman and scoffed at her confidence, but made a call to the sheriff's office phone nonetheless.

. . .

"I assure you, sir," Dean heard a familiar voice shout from the other side of the door, "You will be hearing from my supervisors. Oh, and you can bet your ass _they_ will be hearing about _you_!"

He knew she was coming, she wouldn't just leave them stranded at the sheriff's station. But, he had grown a little antsy when the police had had enough time to question him about what he was doing at the site of Rich's murder with a shotgun full of rock salt. Dean had to admit, it seemed fair for the cops to be suspicious, but they were really just slowing down the _real_ investigation. So, he'd given them a few hours of smartass remarks and a phony story about him hazing a pledge, as one does. They didn't buy it. Hunters didn't usually have much respect for law enforcement. He smirked wickedly as soon as he heard Melissa telling them off.

With a heavy sigh, she opened the door to the interrogation room and Dean perked up when he saw her. Again, she was decked out in full Fed gear.

"Deputy, would you please uncuff the suspect?" Melissa asked the young cop with her eyebrows raised. She leaned back defiantly against the doorframe, her arms crossed. The deputy nodded hastily, obviously intimidated, and began letting Dean free of his handcuffs.

"Not in my jurisdiction…" Melissa thought out loud, still leaning back against the door frame, eyes on the ceiling. She was just adding to her angry agent character with this monologue. She would be the first to admit she was sometimes went a little overboard with the acting part of the job. "Who does that sheriff think he is? The good ol' USofA doesn't need to be told what its jurisdiction is," she paused to scoff for good measure. "Pompous asses. This backwater operation ought to be taken over by some true detectives."

Once again, Dean was impressed and amused at her acting. But, her threatening words were causing the deputy's hands to shake and his pale forehead to grow beads of sweat. Dean just wanted out of the damn handcuffs already. He cleared his throat and got Melissa to look up from her musings. She didn't miss a beat.

"Deputy, are you still trying to uncuff the prisoner?" she rolled her eyes, rushing over to them. She took over with the key, her cool hands brushing against Dean's wrists as she unlocked him. The 'just friends' thing was starting to seem pretty daunting to him.

"I'll tell you, this department is just a lawsuit waiting to happen," she said, grabbing Dean by the arm and making their dramatic exit. As they walked out, he noticed several other cops watching them as they made their way to the room where they were holding Sam. They tried to act like they hadn't been listening to the yelling and quickly ducked back into their offices.

Not bothering to ask for a key and using her lockpick, she freed Sam from his cuffs and led the boys to the parking lot. On their way out, Sam noticed the sheriff talking worriedly on his phone through his office window. He smirked and looked back at Melissa, who remained stone-faced and in character. He was chuckling before they made it out of the building, and as they were met with the cool winter air of the night, Sam lost it. He had heard her whole shouting match with the sheriff, his interrogation room having been much closer to the offices than Dean's.

Soon, all three of them were cracking up as they made their way to Melissa's truck. Not a word was spoken until they made it safely inside the vehicle. It may have looked fishy to the cops or the security cameras that they were all getting into the same car, but considering what Melissa had just done, it was unlikely anyone would come after them. Sam got in the backseat without a glance at Dean, knowing he would want to sit up front next to Melissa.

"Nice work," Dean said, shutting the squeaky car door. He was still trying to find his breath after laughing so hard. He had never seen a hunter work the cops over that way before, save for himself and his father.

"Thank you, thank you," she said, giving a little bow while she fumbled with her keys. "I may hate interviews, but I ain't afraid to make a scene with the cops every once in awhile."

"Yeah, uh," Dean glanced back at Sam, "I think we can see that."

Melissa smirked proudly, her misty blue eyes glistening in the late moonlight. "Yeah, gotta find a little fun where I can."

"Who the hell did you get the sheriff to call?" Sam asked cheerfully, impressed by her boldness. He hadn't laughed that hard in weeks.

"Ah, just an old friend," Melissa shrugged casually. "He's pretty good at sounding like an FBI director if he wants to."

 **Author's Note:** Sort of a cliffhanger? Not really. This chapter was already 4,000 words long and so I figured I would just end it there. The next chapter will continue where this one left off and will be posted within a couple days. So, patience my friends. I hope you liked this week's installment! Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review to let me know what you thought!

Have a lovely day!

Peace and love.


	7. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Behind Blue Eyes"** by The Who

\- " **Proud Mary"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival OR Tina Turner (her cover is fantastic!)

\- " **E.T.I. (Extra Terrestrial Intelligence)"** by Blue Öyster Cult

 **Chapter Four**

"Are we havin' fun yet, or what?" Dean asked with a grin, momentarily taking a break from digging.

He looked to Melissa who stood opposite him in the now three-foot deep hole. She was glistening with sweat but still shivered in the December air. The sleeves of her henley were rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were caked with black dirt, and there were dark patches of it on her rosy cheeks. She stopped to look back at him, panting and wiping her forehead with her wrist.

"Tons," she replied dryly. It certainly wasn't her first time digging up a grave, but that didn't make the task any more pleasant or easy. She had to admit, though, having Dean around for company was helping a bit.

After waking up to Sam and Dean pounding on her door, Melissa had accompanied them climbing through the window of Lori's room at the sorority house. They'd heard there was another murder over police radio and thought it best to bring Melissa along to investigate with them. They were met with the stench of death mixed with that of collegiate desire. The body had already been hauled away, but carved on the wall in blood were the words: _Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?_ They were already looking for a spirit based on Lori's account of the first murder, but this was classic hookman stuff.

They'd gone back to the books at the library looking for someone with a hook, only to be introduced to the preacher Jacob Karns, who killed several hookers in the local red light district in the 1800's. He was later executed. It was decided that Sam would go keep an eye on Lori, who seemed connected to the ghost somehow, while Melissa and Dean dug the bastard up. Then a salt and burn, then onto the next town. Melissa was still bothered by the fact that Lori knew both of the victims, but if it was just a hookman, then she could live with the fact that it was just a hookman.

Dean smiled at her, and she noticed the crinkles around his eyes. She smiled back widely, then continued to dig.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Dean said. She didn't stop digging and only nodded. He smirked at her nonchalance.

"Okay, um, I don't wanna overstep my boundaries or anything but...why did my dad teach you how to hunt? I mean, why did you wanna hunt anyway? I don't know just...not many of the vics I meet wanna take it up. They just wanna forget," he asked slowly, trying to read her as she just kept digging.

There was a moment of silence and Melissa didn't stop.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I'll shut u-"

"No, Dean it's fine," she said, finally looking up. She rested both of her hands on the handle of her shovel, then leaned back against the hole. "I'm just thinking. I don't know if you noticed, but sometimes it's hard for me to find out what I'm saying."

She smiled humorlessly and sighed. Dean had also stopped digging and he watched her with a soft gaze, mirroring the tired stance she had taken. They had almost forgotten about the case for a second, and later Dean would ponder how Melissa seemed to have that effect on him.

"I get it, y'know. Why you'd wanna know. And why Sam doesn't trust me yet. I mean, it does seem weird that your dad would take the time to help me like that. Some random vic getting turned into a hunter in two weeks? It's crazy," she said a little shakily, but she did her best to hide it. Dean noticed how she sounded much more Southern when she was nervous.

"But, by the time your dad started teaching me about the life, I'd known for a long time. Known about what was out there. That ghost who killed my boyfriend? That wasn't my first monster," she said darkly. Dean watched in the light of the lantern as Melissa's light eyes turned stormy. She took a long pause, remembering.

. . .

" _No, Mister Winchester, I'm not doing it. I'm not!" she screamed, tucking her long dark hair behind both ears sharply as she paced. She felt sick to her stomach and her heart was pounding loudly in her chest. She could feel it thundering behind her eyes, giving her a headache. She grimaced the little shards of glass that were now lodged in her palms, having broken nearly every glass in the kitchen out of anger only minutes earlier._

" _For the last time, it's John, and yes, you are! You have to!" John yelled back, slamming his hand down on the rickety kitchen table at which he sat. Melissa jumped and turned back to glare at him. They stared at each other for a moment, the buzzing from the kitchen lights and the sound of sirens from outside filling the tense air. The apartment was a complete dump, and it reeked of pot, but John had definitely lived in worse hotels. He spoke softer the next time, looking up at the young woman and knowing that she had truly lost everyone. And not for the first time. "More people will die, Melissa. It'll follow you your whole life if you don't do this."_

 _John got up from the table and moved over to her, taking her by the shoulders to stop her pacing. Giving her a once-over, he saw the dark circles under her eyes and her pallid complexion, what little color she had in the first place drained by two days without sleep. He looked into those light eyes, seeing the fire behind them. He remembered that fire from the first he met her four years earlier. He didn't say another word before he pulled her into a protective hug. A fatherly hug. He was a little unpracticed in this level of affection, but he felt an odd need to shelter the girl. It was not often he encountered the same vic twice._

" _I'm sorry," he whispered just before he pulled away. She nodded, a couple stray tears sneaking down her face as she looked down at the splintered wood floor._

" _I've gotta kill her all over again…" Melissa choked out, doing her best not to sob._

" _It wasn't you who killed her the first time," John tried to assure her. He knew it wouldn't really help._

" _John," she said quietly, sniffing._

" _Yeah?"_

" _Do you think I'm cursed?" she asked in a small, exhausted voice. It made John's heart break as she reminded him of his own children, whose lives had been tainted by tragedy since the night his wife had died those thirteen years ago. In a couple months, it would be the fourteenth anniversary._

" _No, honey, you're not cursed," he told her firmly. "Sometimes these things just happen, y'know? There's evil sons of bitches all over the place. And this time, it ain't it's fault that its evil."_

 _Melissa scoffed bitterly and looked back up at John, her watery eyes only growing angrier. "Well, I guess it's a good thing we're here to kill 'em, right?"_

 _John nodded and smiled glumly at her, a weak attempt to comfort her. Melissa clutched the gold locket around her neck before leaving without another word. She tried to breathe calmly as she made her way across the parking lot, the oppressive Georgia heat beating down on her. She got into the truck John had hotwired for her only a few hours before._

 _She drove out to an old country road, built a fire like her brothers had taught her to when they were still in Boy Scouts, and torched the necklace. And she knew that somewhere, the ghost of her little sister, her last sibling, was going up in flames along with it. She felt an aching emptiness as she watched the locket melt into nothing. She could almost hear the hollowness within her whistling. But by now, the feelings of grief she was experiencing were painfully familiar. She wasn't ready to run away again, but she knew she would have to._

 _This time, though, it would be different. She would catch it. Find the monster that had started all of it in the first place. With almost blinding rage, she drove back to the apartment that would no longer be hers, the home she had once thought she could finally be happy in. She told John that night. She told him she was ready to hunt down the werewolf that had killed her baby sister._

. . .

"Mel?" Dean's voice forced her out of the memory. She looked up abruptly and faced him. He raised his eyebrows and but a dirty hand on her elbow gently. "You okay?"

She cleared her throat. "O-oh...yeah I'm fine um...I was just saying…" she searched his green eyes for a moment and he dropped his hand, leaning back against the hole and nodding for her to continue.

"My baby sister got killed by a werewolf...and it was your dad who tried to gank it. That's when I met him the first time…" she had been staring up at the half-moon, thinking dimly of the lunar cycle. She glanced back at Dean, not long enough for the tears to fall from her glassy eyes or to see his expression. "And when…" she paused to gulp, "the ghost...killed Allen...he happened on me again. And Dean I-I was so angry. I guess he just knew he wasn't gonna be able to stop me from hunting. It was a whole pack of werewolves the first time...and he didn't manage to get the one who…"

She couldn't continue after that, taking a shaky breath. She willed herself not to cry in front of Dean. With other hunters around, she knew she had to act her strongest. She looked back at him, smiling in spite of herself and exhaling deeply. She had always been one to laugh through the pain. Dean felt a deep pit of guilt settle in his stomach as he saw her smile like that.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Melissa laughed bitterly. "You sound just like your dad."

If she was just another civilian, Dean would have given her a hug. But in this case, he knew to keep his distance.

"It's okay, Dean, I was sixteen," she said defeatedly, almost shrugging it off. "Just...do me a favor and tell me when you find him. It'd be nice to see him again. He saved me."

"Just like you saved me," he replied.

She nodded gratefully and looked down at the shovel in her hands. There was another pause, and then Melissa looked up at Dean with a sardonic smile. "Alright, enough of that weepy crap. Let's torch this dick."

. . .

After the hookman attacked Lori's dad (which gave Melissa a sick sense of satisfaction that she didn't want to admit to herself), it took another trip to the library to discover that the hook in question was donated following the preacher's execution. To a church. Lori's church. Sam, Dean, and Melissa were busy in the church basement melting anything silver when they heard shuffling on the floor above. The boys went to go investigate while Melissa stayed behind, huffing only slightly as she waved them on, throwing some particularly heavy candlesticks into the furnace. Dean came back only a couple minutes later.

"Everything alright?" Melissa asked breathlessly. "Where's Sam?"

"Lori's up there. She's upset about her dad being in the hospital and everything. I told Sam he should just stay up there with her," Dean told her as he ambled back down the stairs and over towards her.

Melissa nodded, wiping the sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. She went back to the pile of silver as Dean joined her. There was a beat of silence and then Dean looked over at her.

"You the praying type?" he asked casually. Though the silence was comfortable, he found himself genuinely interested in her. He wanted to know more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way about a woman.

"Used to be," she said. They were almost to the bottom of the pile, hoping to just kill the damn preacher already. Possessed objects were so much harder to track down than even an unmarked grave.

"Really?" For whatever reason, she didn't really strike Dean as the type.

"I'm from Georgia, Dean. Would you expect anythin' different?" she replied, emphasizing her Southern twang. Dean laughed at her dramatics.

"Are you?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Are you the churchy type?"

"Oh...no," he said, then looking up to remember that he was in fact inside a church. "It's never really been my thing."

"I guess it was never mine either," she admitted, "it was my parents who were always really into it." Dean regarded her for a minute, seeing as she had just mentioned her parents to him for the first time. She looked back at him with a tired smile as she threw the last bunch of silver utensils into the fire.

"Alright, that's all of it," she said. "Let's get back up there and who knows, maybe we'll be in time to watch the sunrise."

Dean smiled back at her, then was surprised by a yawn. They had been up all night, beginning with the grave digging and ending with the silver purge at the church. They'd had to break into the library to look at the arrest records once again. But break-ins were one of the elements of the life that Melissa was best at, so she didn't mind too much. Visiting the hospital where Lori's dad was now recovering from the attack had been much less enjoyable.

"Tired?" Melissa teased, giggling a little.

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "Oh shut up. Let's go find those two crazy kids." Melissa nodded and began walking up the creaky basement stairs. She tried to stifle a yawn and failed, rubbing her eyes. Dean noticed as he walked beside her and smirked.

"Contagious, ain't it?"

She shoved his shoulder lightly in mock irritation. "Typhoid Mary."

He smirked wider and opened his mouth to tease back when a scream sounded from above them. They looked to each other knowingly, then set off for the main room of the church. Melissa grabbed the gun from the waistband of her jeans on their way up, trying to steady her trembling hands as she felt that familiar sense of exhilaration.

. . .

Dean watched Melissa work her magic, spinning a web to the sheriff about what had happened in the church. She had her hands on her hips, looking down at the ground in mock sorrow. He thought she could have made a pretty decent actress had she not been pulled into the life. He glanced over at Sam, who was chatting with Lori as he sat in the cab of the ambulance. The hookman had got Sam's arm pretty good, but Sam had saved his crush in the process. The silver from the hook was, ironically enough, in the cross Lori wore around her neck. It was a close call, but they'd managed to melt it.

It made Melissa think back to melting her own necklace those nine years ago, but she pushed the thoughts away. The escape had felt a little too narrow to Dean, still worried about Sam's rusty hunting skills, but at that moment he was just glad they'd all gotten out alive. Melissa had made a big difference during the fight, holding the ghost off while Dean melted the cross and Sam was down after having been wounded. She hadn't stopped impressing Dean since the moment he'd met her.

He smirked over at his little brother, glad to see him having feelings for someone for the first time since Jess. Then turned back to Melissa, feeling as though he might be intruding if he watched Lori and Sam for any longer.

She was walking back towards him where he sat on the hood of Baby. She had her arms tightly crossed and the tip of her nose was pink in the frosty morning air. The sun was out but the wind was biting. Melissa thought it was a wonder that it wasn't snowing there yet. Dean raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and she nodded confidently in response. She had the cops taken care of.

She sighed heavily, her breath visible. She sat close to him so that they were leaning on each other, trying to take advantage of his body heat. She had forgotten her jacket the previous morning at the motel, and hadn't been back since then. Dean could feel her shivering.

"You've got some serious cold intolerance problems, huh?" He smirked over at her.

"Hey, it ain't might fault this town is cold as fuck," she said calmly, watching the cops enter the church. _So eloquent,_ Dean thought to himself.

"You can take the girl outta the South…" he murmured and she laughed a little beside him. He thought for a minute and then ventured a question apprehensively. "You want my jacket?"

She looked over at him with a little surprise and smiled at the small act of kindness. She eyed his worn leather coat.

"No thanks, but how 'bout we sit in the car while those two lovebirds finish up," she suggested happily. "I believe you still owe me. I get to pick the music."

"Hey, I didn't even have time to pick anything that time. So you owe me first," he tried to reason, afraid of what she might choose.

"That's true. But, if I remember correctly I saved your ass from that pesky Wendigo, didn't it?" she argued.

He groaned, looking up at the sky as a crisp wind blew. Melissa sucked in her breath sharply and leaned into him some more. He didn't understand why she wouldn't just take his jacket. "Alright, alright. But only because if we stay out here too long you'll catch your death, and you won't be around to save my ass again."

She smiled widely at him, and he returned it. They got in the car, and Dean turned the heat all the way up as he shrugged off his coat. Melissa sighed in relief as the warm air blasted into through the vents.

"The tapes are under your seat," Dean told her.

"Thanks," she said, reaching for the box excitedly. They sat in silence for a moment as she sifted through his small collection.

"It's not half bad," she concluded, finally picking a tape. "Could use a little more Dead though."

She winked at him, popping in the tape. The first track of Blue Öyster Cult's _Agents of Fortune_ album came on quietly, and Dean smiled in delight.

"Nice," he commented, nodding in approval. They both looked forward to see Sam walking back towards the Impala, and behind him a paramedic was wrapping a shock blanket around Lori. Melissa got out of the car and leaned against the open door.

"You have shotgun, Sam," she called, getting ready to take the back, where she had ridden on the way over.

He shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. Long legs like mine? It'd be nice to have the space for a little while." He smiled happily, casting a final glance at Lori over his shoulder.

"Thank you," Melissa said quietly with a small nod, then got back into the car. Dean looked over at her in surprise, but she just shrugged.

As Sam got in the back seat, stretching out and resting his head against the window contently, he looked to Melissa and Dean. They were both singing along to some aggressive rock lyrics, just letting loose as Dean turned the volume up to dangerous levels. Sam cracked a smile.

After seeing how Dean was with her and the way she had covered him and Lori at the church, not to mention how she had saved Dean, he was starting to trust her more. It took a lot to win him over these days. With all he had seen, especially in the past couple months, it was hard not to be cynical. He closed his eyes and thought of the way Lori had kissed him as he kept an eye on her house the night before, just before the hookman had launched his assault against the Reverend. And for that rare moment, they felt like just being together in each other's good company was enough.

"Hey," Dean asked during the instrumental, "you guys wanna go get some breakfast?"

 **Author's Note:** Yay! Chapter four! Things are gonna start moving faster soon, since so far we've been in the very early days. Just saving people, hunting things...y'know? As the plot thickens, the romance and intrigue will speed up. We'll get there, folks. Promise.

Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review down below to let me know how you think it's going so far!

Peace and love.


	8. Chapter Five: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Tuesday Afternoon"** by The Moody Blues

\- **"Break On Through (To The Other Side)"** by The Doors

 **Chapter Five** **:** Part One

She'd fallen asleep with her glasses on. Again. Melissa groaned as she rolled over to face her nightstand. Her ringtone, an aggressive punk rock number to make sure she could hear when she had a call, was almost deafening in the early hours of the morning. She clumsily reached for it, almost knocking over a cheap lamp in the process.

"Hel-" she tried, but had to stop to clear her throat. Her voice was still raspy with sleep as she continued. "Hello?"

"Melissa?" a gravelly voice greeted her over the line. She perked up immediately at its familiarity, switching on the lamp. She scrunched up her face and squinted at the harsh lighting.

"Bobby?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes under her glasses with her free hand. She picked up the book she had fallen asleep reading absentmindedly as she waited for Bobby to respond. _In Cold Blood_ was one of her all-time favorites, having read it more than ten times.

"Sorry if I woke you," he said hastily.

Melissa glanced over at the alarm clock. _3:36_. "It's alright Bobby, it's only the ass crack of dawn anyway," she said lightly. "What's goin' on?"

"How far are you?" he asked. He sounded all business, and with that Melissa's stomach sank. Something was wrong.

"From your house? I'm in Omaha, just finished up with a vetala last night...so 'bout three hours?" she guessed groggily. "Bobby, what the hell's goin' on?"

"You told me you worked a couple cases with the Winchester boys, right?"

"Yeah probably three months back...did something happen? Did they find John?"

"Yeah, well..they did," Bobby said, then inhaled sharply. "They got in a car crash, Melissa. Sam's gonna meet me at a junkyard in a couple hours about the Impala. He sounded pretty broken up over the phone...Dean's in a coma. It doesn't look good. They're at a hospital just over the border into Minnesota. The Avera Marshall Medical Center. Sam told me I should call you up...thought you might wanna come."

Melissa let out a long sigh and bowed her head. "Okay...okay. I'll be there."

. . .

The drive felt longer than it was. Her Dead tapes were about all that was keeping her sane and from not swerving all over the road. The sun rose over the highway as she neared the hospital. Normally, she would be singing her heart out on a drive like this. This time she was quiet. Only thinking. About John. About Dean. She hadn't realized how much of an impression Dean had made on her until that drive.

She thought about the way he had good taste in music ( _Buddy Holly fan, huh?_ ) and how funny he was ( _our resident hippie_ ) and how kind ( _you want my jacket?_ ) It was odd that someone who presented himself as so tough had such a soft side. And Melissa could see that Dean didn't even notice when he was exhibiting it. He just made her feel warm, and welcome. It had been a couple months since they'd spoken. Both had been caught up with hunting after parting ways at the diner where they'd shared breakfast after the hookman hunt. (Dean had been pleased to see Melissa ordered bacon and eggs. A woman after his own heart.) She hadn't met someone she had connected with so much since before she could remember. Maybe since Allen. But she didn't want to think of him.

The window was open and crisp spring air blew into the truck's cab. She barely noticed the cold. She had managed to remember her leather jacket along with her jeans as she had sloppily gathered her belongings on her way out of the motel that early morning. She focused on her breathing, and the sounds of the few other cars that she passed. She was well over the speed limit for the duration of the drive. It was times like these when she missed getting high, just so she could calm her wild nerves. Her knuckles stood out white as she clutched the steering wheel, and she was slightly lightheaded.

She didn't notice that her tape had long since ended as she pulled into the parking lot. As she nearly sprinted to the hospital entrance, a harsh wind blew past her, whistling loudly in her ears. She tucked loose strands from the french braid she had fallen asleep in back from her face behind her ears as she approached the front desk. The lady behind the counter had one of the highest beehives Melissa had ever seen, along with mountains of green eyeshadow.

"How may I help you, hun?" the lady, Doris judging by her nametag, asked sweetly.

"Dean Winchester," Melissa said directly, not wasting any time.

"Are you family? Because I'm sorry, miss, but I can't let anyone who ain't family back until ten," Doris said, gesturing to the large analog clock on the wall behind her. Melissa was busy studying the names on the whiteboard behind the receptionist, searching frantically for a D. Winchester.

"Miss?" Doris barked at her, breaking her out of her thoughts. Melissa's eyes shot back to her. "We have other family members and patients waiting."

"Well, I'm his wife so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to see my husband before he has the chance to die," she almost shouted, the shine of tears in her eyes not entirely for show.

Doris' face fell. "Oh," she said flatly, before rising out of her chair. "Right this way."

. . .

Melissa's breath hitched as she saw him lying there, intubated and unconscious. Flashes of memory overcame her...images of her parents and brothers slowly wasting away. The sound of the ventilator was achingly familiar to her, and it was all coming back. The taste of the shitty hospital cafeteria macaroni and the smell of antiseptic. And the sight of the bedsores. There is nothing that quite ruins your childhood like seeing your comatose parents have bedsores. Once again, she did her best to block those thoughts out. She felt Doris' hand on her shoulder.

"I'll leave you to it...your brother-in-law popped out just a little while ago, so I think you'll have some time alone," she said with a pitying smile, then turned to leave.

"Sorry," Melissa blurted, and Doris turned back to her. "One last thing. How's my...father-in-law...doing?"

"Oh...um…" Doris paused, putting a manicured hand on her hip. "Better than…..much better." Melissa sighed heavily, she knew then that she wasn't ready to go see John yet. She would need time with Dean to calm her nerves first.

Then, Doris left. And Melissa was alone with Dean. She took a seat in the vinyl chair on the side of his bed by the window. It was only then that she realized her keyring was still looped around her middle finger, and that her glasses were still on. She didn't mind. She hated wearing them, especially on hunts, but she could see things up close so much better. And if this was the last time she was to see Dean, she wanted to remember all of him. Exactly what he looked like. She shrugged off her jacket, suddenly feeling flushed, leaving her in the gray tank top she had worn to bed.

She sighed heavily, putting her keys in her bag and scooting her chair up close to the side of his bed. She instantly felt like she might be intruding on his dying space...or whatever it was. But she took his limp hand anyway, feeling the rough and callused skin and smiling in spite of her sadness.

. . .

Dean was pretty excited when Melissa showed up, considering it was pretty boring being a disembodied spirit when there was no one to spy on. But he was also, of course, surprised. It had been months, and he had chosen not to call her when they'd found John. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know, but ultimately it wasn't good to get people involved with their family. The Winchesters were trouble, and everyone knew it. More specifically, Dean was trouble, and everyone knew it.

He shook his head at this, watching from the far corner of the room as she sat down next to him and took off her jacket. It felt like he might be invading her privacy a little, and he had to get to the bottom of the whole getting out of the coma thing, but he stayed. It would be nice to have a little break from the drama of observing his father or his brother. He smirked a little at her. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed, with her glasses on and her hair messy.

"Dork," he scoffed. His face fell when he remembered she couldn't hear him. He wondered dimly who had called her. He was further surprised when she took his hand in her own, remembering the time she had refused his jacket. It seemed as though she had experienced a change of heart over their months apart.

Once again she was all he could see, and he studied her face. Her pale skin was shining in the soft light of the morning outside. It was half past seven and through the window he could see that the visitor parking lot was just starting to fill up. She didn't have sharp features, they were more softly drawn, giving her a youthful appearance. Her freckles only made her look younger. She blew out a shaky breath and her eyes grew misty.

"Why didn't you call me, asshat?" she asked with a veil of laughter hiding her emotions. Then she looked down at their hands together, rubbing small circles there with her thumb. She was alone, so she decided it was no use. Her face flashed in pain and she let a couple tears fall. Sniffing and taking a deep breath, she looked back at his serene expression. "I told myself I wouldn't cry in front of you guys. But it's John Winchester, and I wanted to know when you found him, dammit. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. That I was sorry I made him feel like it was all his fault the last time I saw him. I mean...I told him he turned me into a murderer. But it was my choice...I did it. I burned the necklace. It had to be me...or else she wouldn't leave. She had to know I didn't want her. But I did...I did want her…" she had to stop as her voice broke and more tears fell down her cheeks silently.

Dean could hardly watch, realizing how little he knew about her and how guilty he was for not calling her the few times over the last three months when he had been in contact with his father. But it had felt like such an intimate family affair...something he shouldn't involve anyone else in. But now, he was beginning to wonder how close to his family Melissa actually was.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm so glad you're not awake right now," she smiled and gave a watery laugh, wiping at her face with her free hand. Dean was about to move to leave, not wanting to embarrass her, but walked towards her instead. He felt a gravitational pull towards her that he couldn't explain. Maybe it was the side effects of becoming detached from his body. He came to stand next to her, joining her as they stared at his near lifeless body.

"You told me you would call," she whispered, sniffing again. She felt so pathetic. It made her feel so angry with herself. Dean's heart broke more as he heard her choke out those words almost inaudibly. Then, without thinking, he put a hand on her shoulder. And somehow, it stayed there. And he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath it. He squeezed it for a moment, in a small gesture of apology. Suddenly, she dropped his hand and leaped from her chair. Dean had to stop himself from falling forward, as her quick movements had startled him and broken his concentration. His hand went through her for a moment before he pulled it away as she jumped up.

"Fuck," she muttered, swallowing hard and wiping the tears from her face again with both hands. She exhaled slowly and felt the temperature drop, her breath visible in a white cloud. She was shaking both from her tears and the cold. She paused for a moment, breathing harshly. "Don't mess with me, Dean. You know I don't do ghosts. Is that you?"

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't think she would know so quickly, or that it would be so easy to communicate with her. He'd tried with Sam and his father for around three hours with no luck. With her it had taken less than ten minutes. Then, he brought himself back to reality and stared at Melissa for a moment. Her eyes were wild and she was standing defensively, looking urgently around the room. He had to find a way to touch her again. He tried to think of how he felt when he put his hand on her shoulder. He thought of the way she made him feel safe and exhilarated at the same time, and the way she was so beautiful and genuine. The way she was unlike any hunter or woman he had ever met.

(And, don't worry about the beer. I got it.)

(They're honest.)

(Typhoid Mary.)

(Hey, it ain't my fault this town is cold as fuck.)

He smiled a little thinking back, but his mood dampened as he saw her shivering now. He thought of the way whenever she walked into a room he forgot all about whatever was happening and all he could see was her. He didn't focus on his father or his brother or his mother or the demon. All he needed to do was think of her, and how even though they had only met twice it felt like he had known her for years. And how looking at her made him forget that he might die. All that mattered to him in that moment was letting her know he was there. It was too late to call her, but he could be there now.

He searched the room for anything he could do to make her believe it was him. Something that would communicate the message. He spotted her black leather jacket draped over the back of the hospital chair. He walked slowly, his bare feet unable to feel the cold tile beneath them. He moved around her, and as he reached behind her he closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and thought again of the morning in Iowa, or the night they dug the grave together, or the day she had told him why the Grateful Dead meant so much to her.

This time it was easier, and he apprehensively grasped the jacket. He walked back towards her carefully, looking to the jacket and concentrating on nothing else. Being a spirit was really starting to exhaust him. He was before her again, and by now she was no longer looking around the room. Instead she was just letting herself cry. She couldn't stand another ghost. Not now. So much had happened since Bobby's phone call, and it was all just now starting to catch up to her. She stood with one hand to her forehead in a stance of exasperation, quietly sobbing. The tears rolled down her cheeks fast, but she was trying to be as quiet as possible.

I'm not ready, she thought to herself. I can't see John, not after all these years. Not after Rosie. And I can't think about Dean. Dean can't die. I just met him and I like him so much and fuck if I'm not cursed.

The thoughts raced through her mind fast, overwhelming her even more. Soon she was finding it hard to breathe, the noise of Dean's ventilator only further contributing to her state of panic. She sobbed weakly and swore under her breath, disgusted by the fact that she had been brought to tears. This is why you shouldn't work with anyone, she thought angrily.

But then, she stopped. Her jacket appeared in the corner of her view and heavy breathing ceased abruptly. She slowly took her trembling hands from her face and her mouth hung slightly agape. It was right there before her, floating in mid-air, but it looked as though someone was holding it.

(You want my jacket?)

"You gotta close your mouth, Mel," Dean said into the lonely air. "You'll catch flies."

"Thank you," she said almost silently, taking it from his invisible hands. She looked back down at her jacket and put it on. Her cheeks were heating up in embarrassment as she stared at the excessively sterile floor, and Dean almost laughed. "So...you did see me cry after all."

"It's okay," he said quietly. He felt his stomach do a flip seeing her like this, the most vulnerable she had ever let herself be in front of him. He took a shot and caressed her cheek, but this time it didn't last. He could feel her for only a second before his hand slipped. She leaned into his touch, reminding Dean of how she had leaned into him on that cold morning in Iowa, and it was enough. He knew she had felt him.

Then she looked up at him. The effect that look had on him was dizzying, as he saw the way her eyes radiated the kindness he had seen her exhibit. Even though she was also a smartass who could keep up with his references and a badass hunter too. She was perfect. Or at least in that moment, he saw perfection in those eyes behind the Buddy Holly glasses that were really starting to grow on him. This time, when he felt the fear of dying, it wasn't because he would have to leave Sam or that the demon wasn't yet dead. It was that he wouldn't have the chance to tell her how he felt. How much she had made him feel knowing him for so little time. He only wished this moment of clarity wasn't coming out of a near-death (or possibly full-death) experience. And he wished that he wouldn't probably still be afraid to tell her if he ever woke up.

Melissa could feel her heart beating loudly against her ribs. She had felt his hand on her cheek, and she believed it even though she didn't want to. There was no time for her not to believe, and the intense desperation she felt for Dean to make it through this hadn't even occurred to her as something that might sway her belief. From that jacket and that touch, she was convinced. She could almost hear his husky voice.

"I'm not a big fan of spirits," she said. "So I'm gonna find someone to get you out of this okay?"

She was looking around as she spoke, in case he had moved somewhere else. Dean was a little amused by this as she continued, as he was still standing right in front of her.

"It'd be a little lame if the big bad Dean Winchester got killed in a car crash, now wouldn't it?" she asked with a wicked grin. Her cheeks still glistened with tear tracks, and Dean wished he could wipe them away. "I won't stand for that. You're gonna go out some day with your guns blazing, trust me. So...I'm gonna go make some calls and we'll figure this out, okay?"

She waited a moment as if she would be able to hear him respond, then promptly left the room to go get her little book full of contacts from her glovebox. It was hidden amongst the many cassette tapes. And as she left, Dean went off in search of whatever it was he could do to climb out of his coma.


	9. Chapter Five: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Voodoo Child"** by Jimi Hendrix

\- " **All Along The Watchtower"** by Jimi Hendrix

 **Chapter Five :** Part Two

Melissa flipped frantically through her small leather book, the pages full of scribbled names and numbers from almost every hunter she had come across in her nine years of the life. John the first, and Dean the last. She'd taken her hair down to fall around her shoulders in messy waves. There was no one she could see so far that would be of any help, but she was still hoping there was some exceptional hoodoo priest she had forgotten about meeting. She was going to find a way. She had to. As she was combing through the names, she spotted the number of one Missouri Mosely, and smiled at the memory. They'd gone in together on a case in Missouri's hometown, and that woman could work the cops better than Melissa could.

A soft knock at the door broke Melissa from her thoughts. She looked up, slowly taking off her glasses as she peeled her eyes from the book. Her eyes instantly widened as she saw Sam. He had a few cuts on his face, and a nasty bruise across the apple of his right cheek. There were dark bags under his eyes and his face looked hollow with exhaustion and grief. He stood slumped over, a large duffel bag held weakly over his shoulder. Melissa smiled widely at him and walked over to the doorway.

"Hey Sam," she said, enveloping him in a hug. It was a little difficult considering he was a giant and holding a duffel, but it didn't feel awkward as she stood on her tiptoes and he wrapped one arm around her small waist. There was a silent understanding between them now. They were on the same side.

"Hey," he said quietly. She pulled away from him and immediately took his duffel.

"Oh, hey, you don't need to-" he tried to argue halfheartedly.

She gave him a pointed look to shut him up. "Nice try." He gave her a lopsided smile. She set the bag down beside her and moved a little farther back into the room. Sam followed her.

"So...you feelin' okay?" she asked him. "Ya got quite the shiner there."

Sam looked down at his shoes. "You sound just like Dean."

Melissa's face fell and Sam cleared his throat, looking to his big brother. They both stood at the foot of his bed. "How's he doin'?"

"Lively," Melissa said. Sam looked back at her with that same thin smile. "Sorry...too soon?"

"No, it's okay." Sam laughed a little. "That's why I wanted you here. I mean...you're doing what he would do. Trying to laugh. You two smartasses."

Melissa smiled shyly at this and then remembered something she'd wanted to ask him.

"Hey, how'd you know I knew Bobby? I mean he told me about how he used to watch you guys and so I knew you knew him but...I didn't know…" she trailed off, unable to find what she was trying to say.

"Well, I mentioned you, saying I thought you were the other person I might wanna call, and he said he could just do it for me," Sam told her, saving her from having to ramble. Melissa nodded, looking back at Dean.

"I wanted to call you, y'know...when we found him...my dad...but Dean didn't wanna get you in trouble and-"

"It's okay, Sam, I understand. But I wanted to tell you-"

"Hold on, Melissa," Sam interrupted. "Could I actually go bring this to my dad?" He gestured to the duffel. "He asked me to bring him some stuff...for protection."

Melissa noticed that he said the last two words with a bite, but she didn't ask.

"You could come with me...if you want," Sam suggested awkwardly.

Melissa thought on it, looking back to the green chair where she had set her little book down and over to Dean as she bit her lip. She knew she had to tell Sam about Dean, but there were so many other things to cover as well, and she was past the point of reasoning what should be the highest priority anyway. But then, she thought, _Hell, might as well make this day crazier and rip the bandaid off._

"Um, sure. Let's go. And this time, I'll carry the bag."

. . .

Sam tried at small talk on the walk to John's floor, but Melissa could barely form words. Her mind was clouded with scenes of a bloody campsite and a small, dirty apartment smelling of stale pot and poverty. She saw a little girl in a white nightgown and a young drug addict gone too soon. She couldn't shake the memories.

She didn't really even remember the trip there once they made it, and she stood motionless as Sam started into the room. Melissa vaguely noticed his angry, stalking steps but she could think of about a million things that might be bothering him at that moment, so she decided against asking him about it. She took a deep breath and didn't feel ready until Sam looked back at her, his expression expectant. She nodded at him and went in.

John only looked up as he heard his tall son's thundering footsteps almost right next to his bed. "Hey Sam-"

He stopped immediately when he saw her. Though it had been nine years, he still recognized her with just a glance. The only other hunter he had brought up besides his own children. She dropped the bag on the side of the wide bed, just in front of where Sam was standing. She slowly walked over to the end of the bed. He could see she was a few years older, more mature and less of the little girl he once knew. The little girl she was the first two times. But her eyes were the same, he could see, as she looked at him from the foot of the bed. The fire was there, hidden behind her long curtain of dark hair.

"Melissa Lowry," he said tiredly, but with a jolly chuckle. "Well I'll be a son of a bitch."

Sam looked to John with his brows furrowed and his eyes hard, ready to tear his old man a new one upon learning that the spell wasn't for protection. With help from Bobby he was able to learn that John was planning to summon the yellow-eyed demon. But right now, he couldn't deny how out of place he felt. How out of place that argument would feel. He could have cut the tension with a knife, and all he wanted to do was back away slowly. So, instead, he just had to stand there as the young woman and his old man stared at each other from opposite sides of the bed. Sam had known they knew each other years ago, but he hadn't known reuniting them would be this way.

Melissa cleared her throat harshly, looking straight at John. "Hi. Mr. Winchester." She didn't know how to feel, so she just said anything she thought of, hoping on a wing and a prayer it would all turn out right.

John rolled his eyes. "How many times have I told you? It's John."

Melissa felt like moving closer to him, but she couldn't find it in herself to pick up her feet. She wondered when someone had glued her to the ground. "I'm sorry about Dean…" she looked over at Sam nervously. She saw him looking awkwardly down at the duffel. He seemed very eager to open it. She felt bad for him having to be there. "...but I actually-"

She was getting ready to lift the mood of the room with the news that Dean was most likely there with them when John cut her off. "Dean will be fine. He's my boy. And you know how I feel about my boys."

Melissa nodded. John sounded wise, but was undermined when Sam snorted bitterly beside them. Melissa glanced at him, her eyes glassy with the weight of the moment, and John only ignored his son's sound of protest. When their eyes were locked again, Melissa just came out and said it. "And I'm sorry about what I said...and everything that happened...in Bridgewater."

Her words came out slow and rough. John only waved a hand (the one that wasn't in a cast) at her dismissively. "You were a kid. I get it. It's alright."

Her eyes narrowed at him. Now that the apology was over, her old rage was coming back to her. "You're right," she said in a vitriolic tone, "I was...just a kid."

John didn't respond for a moment, looking back at her smugly. Sam was looking over at Melissa in surprise. He had never heard Melissa speak that way before, not even to Dean. Before she was always kidding. Save for a few choice words she had about the Reverend at breakfast after they'd burned Jacob Karns. But that was mostly just for laughs anyway. This was a new side of her.

John sighed, a conceited, passive-aggressive smirk crossing his face. "A kid who could kill."

Sam saw Melissa's eyes flash in rage and decided to change the subject. He had his own bone to pick with John Winchester. In fact, he had more than a few.

. . .

Dean was already in John's room, pacing with his head in his hands, when Melissa and Sam walked in. He was obviously getting nowhere with his father, so he tried with them.

"C'mon, Sammy tell me you can friggin hear me!" he yelled, getting close to Sam's face as he walked with Melissa to the side of his father's bed closest to the door. "Man, there's something in the hospital going after people! You gotta bring me back and hunt this thing!"

Sam only looked down at his duffel and played with the handles restlessly. Dean sighed harshly and shook his head, thinking of the ghostly, corpse-like creature he had just witnessed kill a little girl. And, for some reason, it always gave him the heebie jeebies when monsters could float. He walked over to Melissa, who now stood at the hood of the bed, her hands clutching the hard hospital plastic so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"Mel, come on, you could feel me before. And this would be a great time...and have you told Sam yet? I know you know I'm here," he nearly shouted at her. But then he saw the way she was looking at his father. It was an expression similar to the one he had seen the night he helped her dig the preacher's grave. His tone softened. "Melissa? Please…"

The tense exchange that ensued between Melissa and his father surprised Dean. From how Melissa spoke about his old man, he thought there reunion would be much more warm and fuzzy. But, they seemed to both have chips on their shoulders. Just when Dean thought it might turn to yelling, Sam spoke up.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he asked John in exasperation. Dean rolled his eyes. Now he knew it would turn to fighting.

"What are you talking about?" John asked calmly in that sam smug voice Sam had always loathed as a child. The voice that told him his father thought he was better than everyone else.

"That stuff from Bobby; you don't use it to ward off a demon, you use it to summon one," Sam said, fuming. Melissa just stared at him, her mouth open and eyes glassy.

In the three months since last seeing the Winchesters, she had done a little snooping in the hunter circles. After all, they were a gossipy folk. She had managed to dig up a remarkable amount about John and his boys. Sure, from the times she had met John, she knew his wife was dead. But she hadn't known how until running into some veteran hunters at a bar and starting up a conversation about John.

"You know what?!" Sam continued. "You care more about killing this demon than you do about saving your own son!"

"Actually, about Dean-" Melissa started, figuring everyone in the room could benefit from the good news about the eldest Winchester brother.

"I have a plan, Sam," John said, neither of the two non-spirits acknowledging Melissa at all.

"That's exactly my point," Sam yelled. "Dean is dying and you have a plan!"

"Actually he's-" Melissa tried again. It didn't work.

"I would say I can't believe this," Sam shouted, "but it's always been the same with you!"

"No, no, no, guys don't do this!" Dean exclaimed. "If you'd just let Melissa talk…"

"Do not tell me how I feel!" John shot back. "I am doing this for Dean!"

Melissa stayed silent after that, feeling as though she was definitely intruding on something now. She took a few steps back from the bed and leaned against the wall, swallowing thickly. Maybe after the fight some of the tension would be lifted.

"How? How is revenge going to help him? You're not thinking of anybody but yourself. It's the same selfish obsession!"

"Come on, guys! Stop!" Dean yelled, thinking back to the night Sam left for Stanford. It felt his whole life was just listening to his brother and his father bicker. And now was definitely not the damn time for it.

"You know it's funny...I thought it was your obsession too!" John said over Dean's silent protests. "This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt. Now if you'd killed the damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!"

"It was possessing you, Dad," Sam said angrily, "I would have killed you too."

Melissa still stood quietly against the wall, almost wanting to cry listening to the parts of the story she didn't know and seeing the anger between the two of them.

"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now," John replied.

"But he is-" Melissa attempted a little louder this time. It was still no use.

"Shut up, both of you!" Dean pleaded. "Just let her talk!"

"Go to hell," Sam told his father with his eyes narrowed. Melissa had never heard that amount of venom in Sam's voice. Dean was pacing angrily now, feeling suffocated and alone.

"I should have never taken you along in the first place," John said, his calm exterior really folding now, "I knew it was a mistake. I knew I was wrong-"

"I said SHUT UP!" Dean shouted gruffly, exerting all of his anger on a glass sitting on his father's tray. Much to his surprise, it shattered. Apparently, it would work with positive or negative feelings.

Sam, John, and Melissa all immediately looked over as the glass crashed onto the floor. Sam and John stood stunned (much as Dean was doing from his place in the veil,) and Melissa just smirked. He was with them.

"Dude," Dean said in a daze, seeing Melissa smirk knowingly, "I full on Swayzed that mother."

The triumphant feeling only lasted a moment before Dean's breath left him and a stab of pain struck his stomach. He crumpled in pain, and looked up to see doctors and nurses scrambling in the hallway.

"What is it?" he asked quietly to himself.

"Something's goin' on out there," John said slowly, all three now watching the commotion. John looked to Sam and indicated for him to go find out what was wrong. Melissa followed Sam without a thought, not wanting to spend a minute alone with the man who had taught her almost all she knew.


	10. Chapter Five: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **In The Light"** by Led Zeppelin

 **Chapter Five** **:** Part Three

Sam and Melissa huddled next to each other in the doorway of Dean's room. They were motionless, watching the doctors attempting to resuscitate Dean. Melissa didn't know how to feel. She thought bitterly to the hope she'd had only an hour earlier. The feeling of Dean's hand on her cheek. A few tears rolled down her face remembering it. She tugged nervously at the sleeve of her jacket, biting her lip. She felt guilty for showing so much emotion, knowing that however bad she was feeling, Sam felt a thousand times worse. And still he only stood with tears welling in his eyes and his jaw tense. But she couldn't find it in herself not to cry. It was a problem she had never had before.

"All clear," a doctor said robotically. They zapped Dean, and Melissa had to look away, having to avoid old memories. She couldn't believe it was happening again, having to watch somebody get fried. She definitely didn't expect what was going to happen when Bobby called her that morning.

"Still no pulse," she heard a nurse say. Her head was pointed down the hall, and she felt her stomach drop. Why did it have to take so long? In some ways, the waiting was the hardest part. To her, it seemed worse to watch someone go slowly. She only hoped when she bit it, the life would be what killed her, and it would only take a moment.

"No," Sam murmured beside her. She wanted to look at him but still couldn't find it in herself.

They zapped him twice more, any hope Melissa had having long since disappeared. But after the second try, she heard someone mutter, "We've got a pulse. Back to sinus rhythm."

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in and turned back to Sam. To her surprise, he was the one to envelope her in a relieved hug. They held each other tightly, and Melissa was doing her best not to sob.

Dean came up to them, a little breathless, having just wrestled whatever the monster was off of his own body. Now he really needed to let them know what was going on.

"Don't worry, guys, I'm not going anywhere. I'm getting that thing before it gets me. It's some kinda spirit, but I can grab it. And if I can grab it, I can kill it."

Melissa and Sam pulled away from each other, and Dean was about to try to break through again with he heard a scream sound from down the hall. _Just can't catch a minute, can I?_ he thought, rolling his eyes. Then, he went on his way to put out yet another fire.

. . .

Sam was breathing deeply, his head resting on his hands as he sat in the chair next to Dean's bed. It was the calmest he'd felt all day, knowing Dean had been close to gone but had come back. And it was crazy, but he could have sworn that he'd felt something right after they'd found a new pulse. Like Dean was there with them. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, just a feeling. And, of course, there was the glass shattering out of nowhere in his dad's room. Sam had spent too much time around the supernatural not to suspect something was up, and now was not the time to be skeptical.

Melissa cleared her throat from her place leaning up against the wall, and Sam turned his head to her tiredly. It was odd to see someone else so broken up about Dean, since his father surely wasn't doing much in that department. But the decision to call her had seemed so natural, since Dean hadn't shut up about her since the last hunt together.

"Sam…" she started, "um, before when you were out meeting Bobby or whatever...Dean was-he was in here."

She was looking down at her boots, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

"What?" Sam asked, unable to form other words. Apparently it wasn't just a freak feeling.

"He put his hand on my shoulder and handed me my jacket and put his hand…" she stopped for a minute, bringing her hand to her face where she remembered how it had felt. God, she missed him. "And there was a cold spot."

She looked back up at him, expecting some anger or disbelief. But, instead, he said, "I felt him too….we gotta talk to him."

. . .

A couple hours and a cheap ouija board later, Sam and Melissa learned there was a reaper in the hospital. And it was coming for Dean. They'd gone to tell John, but found an empty bed and a room washed in darkness as the day came to an end instead. Melissa couldn't tell if it had been the longest or shortest day of her life. As Sam saw the vacant room, Melissa saw his face flash in anger, but he just carried on. A fire had been lit in both of them to find out all they could about reapers. It had been about two hours, though, and there was nothing so far.

Melissa stopped to let out a heavy, tired sigh as she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "I got nothing...so far. Anything?"

"No, not yet," he said, flipping slowly through his father's journal. "Y'know, I think you're in here the first time he met you...but not the second time."

Melissa raised her eyebrows a little and shrugged. "We didn't end on the best note, if you couldn't tell."

"Yeah, I noticed a little. So...it was your little sister. With the werewolf?" he asked tentatively. At breakfast after the hookman hunt she'd filled him in briefly about her history with his father. Sam knew she'd told Dean more than him.

Melissa nodded stoically. "I was twelve. She was six. And I couldn't save her."

"How did you...get on after that?" he asked, glancing over at his dying brother.

"Well, um…" she said, closing the book and putting it on Dean's tray along with her glasses. "I didn't deal with it so well...I got arrested a few times." Dean didn't even know this part of her life. No one did. But now it seemed like she had nothing left to lose by telling him.

Sam only raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I mean, my parents were already dead. I ran away from...where I was living and I started stealing to stay alive. I just got caught up. It was a weird time in my life. I mean I was homeless and I was young and it just...yeah. But now I'm here, so I don't know if that's better but it least it ain't jail. Right?"

"Wow," Sam said sympathetically, and Melissa nodded in response.

Sam looked down at the journal in shame. He shouldn't have asked. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Sam. No hunter hasn't got their own crosses to bear," she said dismissively, then looked down at her hands. "I'm gonna go see if your dad is back from..wherever. See if maybe Dean's in there."

Sam nodded. Dean's presence had been there when they first entered the room and started doing research, but both of them had eventually just stopped feeling him. Sam had been brave enough to address it with her the hour before, and both decided that Dean seemed to have momentarily left the building.

. . .

There was nothing left to do. Reapers, it seemed, couldn't be stopped. As Melissa was coming back from John's room (where there was not a Winchester in sight or feeling,) she caught Sam standing front of the dark window, his hands in his pockets. She hovered by the door and heard him talking quietly.

"I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, alright? As long as you keep fighting. I mean, come on you can't...you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other...you know that."

He paused for a long time and Melissa was about to walk in, already guilty for eavesdropping this long, when he started talking again in his anguished tone.

"Dean you gotta hold on," he said, watching as rain started to fall outside. Melissa bowed her head, feeling tears well up in her eyes again. "You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again….Can you hear me?"

That was enough, Melissa decided, and she cleared her throat. Sam looked back at her, hastily wiping at his face.

"Oh, hey," he said, his voice watery as he sniffed a little, "D-did you...was there anyone there?"

She only shook her head. Sam nodded and sat back down in the chair. Melissa had managed to track down another while they'd gotten to doing research, so she walked over and sat next to him. She knew Dean wasn't in the room, and it only made her feel worse that Sam was trying to talk to him anyway. She put a hand on his shoulder for a minute before he put his own on top of hers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There was no response, but the silence that ensued was not uncomfortable. More just painfully sad. They both sat and watched Dean as the rain outside grew heavier, soon becoming a downpour.

. . .

At some point in the last few hours, Melissa couldn't really remember, Sam had moved to sit on Dean's bed. She figured he just wanted to feel closer to his brother. She sat dozing, her head resting on her closed fist. She was almost completely asleep, swaying a little as she tried to will herself back awake. What a long day it had been. She was still awake enough to hear the sheets of rain continue to fall. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen it rain so much all at once. Then, out of nowhere, she heard a loud cough and the monitor immediately began to beep faster. Her eyes shot open.

"Dean?" Sam shouted as his brother began to choke on the breathing tube. Sam jumped up and ran to the doorway. "Help! We need help in here!"

Melissa took Sam's place as fast as she could, then grabbed Dean's hand as squeezed it tightly, an attempt to soothe him as he struggled to breathe. She couldn't believe the relief she felt. She almost didn't notice as a nurse pushed her away, and she came to stand against the wall with Sam. Dean was back. _Really,_ she thought watching him be stabilized, _I guess he never actually left_.

. . .

A miracle recovery, the doctors were calling it. Melissa wasn't so sure. Good things were generally something she was very skeptical of. In all her 25 years, she had never witnessed an actual miracle, and she doubted that today was the day she would finally get a glimpse at one. It felt too fishy...too coincidental. But still, she was beyond glad that, whatever it was that had happened, had happened. And she was glad it had finally stopped raining, just as the sun was coming up. She almost felt like laughing thinking about the last 24 hours, but she wasn't sure if that was just because of her exhaustion.

The doctor was in, explaining that every injury Dean should've had after the car accident was just...gone. Another thing that didn't sit well with Melissa. After the doctor left, Sam and Melissa continued filling Dean in about all he had missed. It seemed he couldn't remember anything about being out. Melissa was a little disappointed when she heard this, thinking about the moments they had shared. But now at least he wouldn't remember her crying.

"So, you said a reaper was after me?" he asked. He was the perkiest person in the room, having just been healed of everything.

Sam, standing on the side of the bed near the door, answered him. "Yeah. I mean, that's what you told us."

"How'd I ditch it?"

"Who knows," Melissa said from her chair. Dean stared ahead worriedly. It was all too perfect. He just didn't feel right.

"You really don't remember a thing?" Sam asked again.

"No," Dean replied. "Except this pit in my stomach. Somethin's wrong, Sammy."

They all heard a knock at the door and looked over. John was hovering tiredly, and Melissa wanted to glare at him. But she knew this wasn't the time for a fight, so she remained solemn. He only looked at his boys, anyway. This was a family affair and suddenly Melissa felt intrusive again. She wanted to be back in her truck on her way to the next hunt. Not here with the Winchesters. All the Winchesters. It was a strangely homesick kind of feeling.

"How you doin,' son?" John asked.

"Fine, I guess. I'm alive," Dean answered. Melissa smirked.

"That's what matters," John said. Melissa rolled her eyes at his smugness.

"Where were you last night?" Sam asked his father angrily.

"I had some things to take care of."

"Well, that's specific," Sam shot back.

"Come on, Sam," Dean scolded from the bed.

"Did you go after the demon?"

"No."

"You know," Sam said, looking over to Melissa and Dean before glaring at his father, "why don't I believe you right now?"

"Can we not fight?" John pleaded with Sam. "You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I...I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?"

Dean furrowed his brows. His dad didn't talk like that. The sick feeling in his stomach grew worse.

"Dad, are you alright?" Sam asked, also sensing the change in his father's tone.

"Yeah," John said with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, son, would you...uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?"

Sam looked dubiously at his father for a moment, then cleared his throat and lightened his expression. "Yeah, Dad...sure."

Sam frowned on his way out, looking over his shoulder at Melissa and Dean. Dean only shrugged.

John looked awkwardly at Melissa after Sam left. "Um, Melissa? Could you give us a moment?"

"No, Dad, she's cool. It's not-" Dean started.

"Dean, it's fine. I'll go. Been up all night, I could use some coffee," she said. Dean nodded and she left the room quickly, finally getting a break from all the tension. She took a big sigh of relief as she got to the coffee station. Sam was standing near it drinking his own cup, with his father's in his other hand. She figured he was probably taking a break too.

She yawned as she poured a cup of coffee black. (She smiled a little thinking back. Contagious, ain't it?)

"Like it strong, huh?" Sam asked from beside her.

"Yeah...been a long day," she said with a polite smile, but soon her expression fell a little. "Sam, do you ever..do you ever feel cursed?"

She turned around and looked toward the nurses' station. Sam smiled sadly and looked down at his coffee. "All the time."

She nodded, taking a long sip. There was a beat of comfortable, relaxed silence.

"We should get back," Sam said.

"Well...if you say so."

They continued chit-chatting, walking slowly on their way to Dean's room. They passed John's room on the way, and Melissa was telling the story of the time she'd gone hitchhiking in Texas when Sam's large hand came down on her shoulder. She stopped short and looked over. John was lying on the floor of his room, motionless. Sam instantly rushed to his father, dropping the coffee along the way.

"Dad!"


	11. Chapter Five: Part Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Hey Jude"** by The Beatles

 **Chapter Five** **:** Part Four

The first hour was almost silent. But after Sam fell asleep, sprawled in the back of Melissa's truck, it was easier to talk. Dean's eyes were continuously misty, but Sam had full-on cried. His dad was dead. His dad had died thinking he was hated. He just couldn't take it. So, after an hour of silently sobbing in Melissa's messy back seat, he had finally drifted off.

Dean was different. His face was stoic, eyes hard as he watched the road in front of them. He tried not to think about the body wrapped in a sheet in the cab of the truck. If he thought about that too much he might end up just jumping out of the moving vehicle. He couldn't think about the fact that the man he had looked up to all his life was dead. Both his parents were dead. And even though Sam was there, just as broken as he was, and Melissa was there, who would probably leave just as soon as she dropped them off at Bobby's, he just felt so _alone_. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling to him, but it was so much worse this time. All he wanted to do was get drunk, but it was only ten. _Hell,_ he thought to himself, _I guess it's five somewhere._

Melissa was trying to stay calm for the both of them. But there was still a confusing feeling that she couldn't shake. It was a lot. Guilt, anger, sadness, grief. So, she was choosing to tune it out. She tried just to focus on the drive. When she looked in her rearview mirror and finally found Sam asleep, she let out a little breath of relief. The kid needed sleep. So did she, but she'd drunk three cups of black coffee before hitting the road, so she was good for a while. This was only after they'd decided to leave the car Sam had stolen in the hospital parking lot and let her drive back to Bobby's. Someone would claim it eventually.

They only had a couple hours drive left, and she figured the caffeine crash would happen after they arrived. She could probably handle it if not, though. She had driven halfway to dead before. She held the steering wheel with jittery hands as she got off the semi-crowded highway, and eventually found a more pleasant country road. She thought Dean might be asleep too, his head resting against the window, so she jumped a little when he spoke up.

"Hey...is it my turn to pick music or yours?" he asked. Melissa was relieved it wasn't something heavier.

"Y'know, I think it's yours," she replied. He smiled tiredly and started to reach for the glove box.

"You sure it won't wake the kid?" Melissa asked tentatively.

He scoffed knowingly and glanced over his shoulder at his baby brother. "He drives with me everyday. He's slept through my real rock...he's gonna sleep through whatever the hell it is you have."

"I resent that," she smirked. He started rifling through the compartment, then looked over at her a little shyly.

"Hey, do you...have anything with _Hey Jude_?"

"Are you trying to mock me or is this a real request?"

He smiled again. "It's real."

She was surprised both by his question and the lack of sarcasm he was exhibiting. "Check for the _Blue Album_."

"Isn't it the _White Album_?"

"The _White Album_ was an actual studio release. The _Blue Album_ is a compilation of singles from the late sixties," she said matter-of-factly, enjoying the lack of cars this back road had.

"God, are you this much of a nerd with all bands, or just The Beatles?"

"Shut up," she said happily. A few moments later, Dean finally found what he was looking for. He read the back of the case to look for the right track and skipped to _Hey Jude_ as soon as he popped it in. He seemed to relax as soon as the song came on, leaning his head back onto the rest and sighing a little. Melissa noticed this with some confusion, but she let it slide.

She smiled at the familiar song, and absentmindedly, she started to sing along. It was almost inaudible and she didn't notice she was doing it until Dean looked over at her.

"That's a pretty nice voice ya got there, Melissa," he said, and smirked as he watched her blush.

"Oh, sorry, I just do it without thinking sometimes, I don't-"

"Aw, come on, don't do that. The shy thing doesn't fit you. Not after the arrests you've gotten us out of," he smiled at her, yawning at the end as he felt the stress of the last couple days leave him for a little while.

Only a few hours ago he had been dying, chased by a reaper no less, and his father was gonna make it though. But now his father was dead and he'd had a miracle worked on him. He already had his own unsavory suspicions about what had happened. But for that moment, he tried only to focus on the one song that always made him feel the most at ease, and the woman next to him who seemed to do the same.

There was a moment of silence. Melissa yawned into her fist (she might actually be coming down from the coffee early,) and smiled.

"Dammit," she said in mock anger, glancing at Dean. He met her eyes. "Typhoid Mary."

 **Author's Note:** Well that chapter was long as heck, huh? It just sort of got away from me. Hope that's alright! : )

Shoutout to and _**Black Dragon 42**_ for your lovely reviews! Thank you so much!

Anyway, I hope you liked this installment. Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE leave a review to let me know what you think!

Peace and love.


	12. Chapter Six: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **I Feel Free"** by Cream

\- " **I'm So Tired"** by The Beatles

 **Chapter Six** **:** Part One

Melissa was bloody and a little sweaty, but at least she wasn't crawling up the damn walls anymore. They'd stayed at Bobby's for a whole week right after John died. Sam and Melissa had been having an epic poker tournament (betting sugar packets; a hunter's salary wasn't exactly the best for gambling,) and Dean mostly kept to himself. Melissa expected as much; he didn't seem like the 'talk through your feelings' type. But hanging out with Sam for a week was pretty fun, as it turned out. He told her a bunch of stories from his childhood, and she returned a few times. Among her favorites were the time Sam jumped off a hotel roof thinking he could fly, and when Dean stole the Impala to go to some nightclub in New York. And Sam enjoyed hearing about the antics of Melissa's three brothers.

Eventually, Sam started to tell her about his last year. About Jessica and about his visions. About the yellow-eyed demon and the 'special children.' About the Colt. Melissa wasn't exactly surprised, but she was a little overwhelmed. She wondered what she was getting herself into, and she almost wanted to run away, but she knew she couldn't. She owed it to them, and she owed it to John. Or something. She didn't actually know exactly, but for some reason she wouldn't feel right leaving.

Once or twice a day, Dean would get a water (or a beer) from the kitchen, and Melissa would greet him from her spot across from Sam at the kitchen table, and he would smile or nod. But even Melissa could see that he wasn't all there. And then he would leave to go back to work on the Impala. And Sam and Melissa would go back to their cards. Bobby was usually busy talking to other hunters on the phone, but he would sometimes pop into the kitchen. Seeing Bobby and staying at his place was an oddly nostalgic experience. Once when she was eighteen, Melissa had done the same thing, but that time she'd just needed to lay low from the Wisconsin P.D. As a young, sloppy hunter, it had been harder for her to cover her tracks.

Eventually, boredom had gotten the best of Melissa and she'd found a case out in Washington. And, the same day she left to go kill a suspected woman in white, the boys got a call from a woman named Ellen on John's old cellphone. And so they were all off. The hunt turned out to be a little longer than Melissa thought, and she was gone for a week and a half. Not to mention the fact that there was not great cell reception in the mountains of Washington, so she hadn't been able to talk to the boys or use Bobby as her FBI supervisor. But now she was pulling into Bobby's lot, and it was all done. She was just glad Bobby's house had decent water pressure.

The sun was just setting and the March air was brisk. She shivered a little as she was walking into the dusty old house, but as she entered, the heat was cozy and welcoming. She dropped her bag by the door with a heavy thud, and immediately went for the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks as she saw Dean sitting at the kitchen table alone, reading in dim light.

"Hey," she said quietly, tugging at the cuffs of her light purple henley.

A smile spread across his face when he heard her voice, but his expression faded when he saw the state she was in.

"What the hell happened to you? Are you hurt?" he asked hastily, closing his book with a _snap._ He almost got up and rushed to her but she motioned for him to stay put.

"No, no, I'm fine," she assured him, getting two beers out of the fridge. "Just got a little caught up. It wasn't a woman in white. It was a whole house of spirits. They threw me into a window. It's alright. Just some shallow wounds."

Dean looked skeptical as she sat down, placing one of the drinks in front of him. "Thanks," he muttered.

"So, how was your hunt?" she offered, hoping to distract him from her blood-stained clothes. He also saw her dirty face and messy hair, but decided to humor her.

"It was alright. A little weird. It was a Hindu creature that would morph into peoples' worst fears. It was living at a circus posing as a clown. Oh, and it could make itself invisible," he listed off. "But we got it two days ago."

She nodded in amusement, taking a sip. "You know the funniest part might be that I believe every word of that."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it's a weird life."

"Hey, what's Dean Winchester doing reading alone in a dark kitchen? What's the book, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, just felt like it. I read...sometimes," Dean scoffed shyly. " _Slaughterhouse Five_."

Melissa raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Vonnegut? Nice."

There was a comfortable silence as they both took a few more sips of their beers. Melissa cleared her throat. "So...how are you doing with everything?" she asked. "You seem a little different today. I mean...you're in the kitchen. I guess that's progress."

His jaw tensed and Melissa wondered if she shouldn't have asked. But he spoke calmly. "I don't know...it still feels weird. I um...might've hit my car with a golf club a few times this afternoon. Then I figured it might be time for a break."

He looked away from her and down at his hands, afraid she'd be disappointed by his outburst. Most women he'd known ran once they saw how violent he could be sometimes. She was quiet for a minute, and he waited for her disapproval.

"Well, I guess it's good that you're a mechanic already. Shouldn't take too long to fix," she said, and he looked up in surprise and smiled gratefully. She was watching him with a careful eye as she continued.

"You know what I started doing when my sister died?" she asked. He shook his head a little. "Drugs."

"What?" he blurted out.

She nodded. "Yeah for about...almost three years. I mean it was mostly pot and who doesn't live a little when they're a teenager? And, let me tell you, there is probably no better place to get drugs than an orphanage. But, when I was around fourteen I got into some of the...harder...stuff for a while," she bowed her head a little, and suddenly felt very embarrassed.

Dean just listened. She seemed like she wasn't done, and he knew a 'sorry' wouldn't help.

"But I stopped for a while when I first met...Allen. Though by the time he died he was probably the most into the stuff. In all honesty, I don't know how long either of us would've lived if he hadn't…"

She wasn't crying, but it was getting hard for her to keep it all in. "My point is...you're doing a hell of a lot better than I did. So don't beat yourself up."

Dean was actually probably closer to crying than Melissa. She saw his green eyes get glassy, and looked down at her drink. He almost apologized to her, but then he decided against it. "Yeah, I don't know. I might've synced _Dark Side of The Moon_ and _Wizard of Oz_ more times than one when Sam was at Stanford and my dad was outta town."

Melissa gave a watery laugh. "Oh, believe me, I can still pretty well quote that whole movie _and_ that whole album. Though, some of the words might be a little jumbled." She winked at him and he laugh.

Again, there was a pensive silence. Melissa drank the last of her beer, and felt a lot better than she had six hours ago when the cops had caught her ganking the ghosts. It was a lot harder to talk them out of arresting you when they caught you in the act. And to them it must've looked like she was just committing a very brave act of arson on the old mansion. Sometimes, she knew, you just had to get the hell outta dodge. But, she had been staking out that night, so not much was abandoned in her motel room. Certainly not anything that had a picture of her to plaster on the news. So, overall, not a _terrible_ hunt.

"Dean?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he said, also finishing off what would probably be his first of many beers that night.

"I actually caught wind of another case while I was in Washington. I was gonna head out to Ohio tomorrow morning. Sounds like it should just be an easy salt-and-burn. Do you...maybe...wanna come?" she asked tentatively, staring at the behind him at a particularly creepy old portrait. As a hunter, it was a wonder Bobby wasn't worried about that thing being haunted. "I mean...for nothing if only to keep you from _completely_ destroying your car."

He smiled wryly. "Yeah, sure. I could use a break from all of Sammy's therapist crap. And let's face it; Bobby ain't exactly a bucket of sunshine...ever. So yeah. Might be good to blow off _some more_ steam."

. . .

The next morning, Dean learned the hard way that Melissa was not an early bird. Sure, she could run on just a couple hours of sleep, but waking up? Sometimes for her that was worse than getting no shuteye at all. Her nightmares made it worse.

She'd gotten the couch that night, with Sam on the floor and Dean on the day bed. They'd been switching off since arriving at Bobby's. It was silently decided that they would all stay there until the Impala was fixed. In actuality, Melissa didn't really need to stay, but she liked the break and the company. Losing John had affected her more than she would have expected it to. She was getting a little exhausted. She could have just kept to herself, not gone to the hospital when Bobby called, and heard about John's death in a hunter bar somewhere. Hearing it from someone else would have made it seem distant. Seeing Sam cry over his John's body, screaming for help, had made it painfully real. She had cried more since meeting the Sam and Dean than in all her years of hunting alone.

She was lying on her back, wrapped in Bobby's warmest quilt. Dean had been assigned the blanket originally, but then had forced her to switch her thin throw with him. ( _I'm not gonna catch a cold in sixty-five degree weather like you are,_ he'd said. _So you might as well take it for your sake and mine._ ) Again she was dreaming of her sister, but this time Allen was there too.

"Mel?" she heard faintly. She wondered where in the dream it was calling from. Then, Dean saw her roll over and put her face in the pillow. He smirked.

"Melissa?" she heard again, louder this time. Dean still didn't get any movement out of her.

"Come on, wake up," he said, and then shook her shoulder lightly. That tactic may have worked too well.

Melissa gasped sharply and sat up with a start. She couldn't find her breath for a moment, only vaguely remembering that in the dream Allen was setting her sister on fire. She brought a hand to her chest and tried to settle her pounding heart.

"Whoa," Dean said, backing away a little and putting his hands up. For a moment, he thought she was going to punch him. She was breathing hard as she glanced over at him. She blinked at the harsh light coming through the window behind him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, coming closer to her. It didn't seem safe to touch her just yet.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm fine. What time is it?" she said groggily. He almost laughed at her disheveled appearance. Some strands of hair had come loose from her braid and her eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the bright light. It was certainly the most disoriented he had ever seen her. Sure, they had woken up in that same room the whole time they'd been staying with Bobby, but no one had ever needed to wake her up before.

"'Bout seven," he replied. She groaned and put her face back in her pillow dramatically. And that was all the response he got.

Sam and Bobby snickered from the kitchen over their coffee, leaning against the counter.

"I told you," Bobby said to Dean, "She was like that when she was a teenager and she's gonna be like that now. At least she didn't throw a lamp at you."

"She threw a lamp at you?" Dean asked as he walked back to the kitchen. He chose to give Melissa a few more minutes.

"Oh yeah," Bobby answered warily as Dean took a seat at the table. "Hard too. She had to stitch me up herself from where it shattered. Coulda been a pitcher, that girl."

Dean smirked and Sam laughed.

"Do you often get assaulted by teenage girls or was this an isolated incident?" Sam asked with a grin.

"Shaddup," Bobby snapped, followed by a quiet, "Idjits."


	13. Chapter Six: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Time Is On My Side"** by The Rolling Stones

\- " **Fortunate Son"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

\- _"_ **Whiskey Man"** by The Who

 **Chapter Six** **:** Part Two

They were on the road by nine, and much to Melissa's relief, neither Bobby nor Sam seemed to have a problem with her and Dean going on a hunt alone together. She didn't know why she was so worried about it. She didn't want it to seem like she was taking Dean away from the two of them or trying to intrude on the little family they had. Or something. It had been long time since she'd hunted with anyone else or lived anywhere besides a motel or her car. It was hard for her not to be nervous about anything that was happening, really.

It was quite the drive to Youngstown, Ohio, and Melissa was a little anxious about what she had gotten herself into when she asked him to come with. She didn't think he would say yes, it mostly just for him to know that he could if he wanted to. But she was a little excited too. Dean was her friend, it seemed. And that alone was odd. _She_ had a _friend._ It was hard for her to wrap her head around. But most new things are at least a little exciting and nerve wracking.

As soon as they were on a clear stretch of country road, Dean started rifling through the glovebox without a word. A large smile crossed Melissa's face as the first track of _Hot Rocks_ came on. Dean gave a relaxed sigh and sat back against the tattered seat.

"So, what's this case?" he asked.

"Ummm…I heard there's a woman who got a bullet in her head," she told him. "No forced entry, no known enemies. No gun, and no indication it was a suicide. Just nothing. Figured it's probably a case. Oh, and the daughter says she saw an old woman dressed in black walking around the house weeks before the murder."

"Alright. Sounds pretty routine," Dean said.

"Yeah, anything to avoid cabin fever. I don't like staying in one place too long."

"Did you move around a lot when you were a kid or something?" he asked casually. Melissa was glad he was making an effort at conversation. After the weeks of just nods to her at the kitchen table, she was afraid he might keep the ride silent.

"No, we had a house. It was a little cramped though...a two-bedroom house for five kids…"

"You had four siblings?" he asked with raised eyebrows. She forgot that she had never mentioned her brothers to Dean.

"Oh yeah," she said with a melancholy smile. "Three brothers, one sister. But then, after everything...I started hunting and it was actually pretty good with me to move around. I finally had my own space, y'know? I could go anywhere," she said, thinking back to her first few weeks out on the open road. It was a freedom and carelessness she had never felt before

"Yeah...I know what you mean," Dean replied, rolling down the truck's squeaky window and breathing in the fresh morning air.

. . .

"Dammit," Melissa said, looking down at herself, "Now I really am gonna have to get new FBI clothes."

Dean chuckled. "Oh right, because they were pretty top of the line before," he teased.

They were both grimy, but the job was relatively easy. There was no time in between interviews and grave digging to change, so both of their nice sets of clothes were ruined. And Melissa had done a little ghost fighting while Dean torched the bitch.

That morning, there were a few levels of police to go through to get to the little girl whose mother had just gotten her brains blown out. Then, a brief visit to the library had introduced Melissa and Dean to Sarah Bauer. A single mother who had killed her children and then herself in that same house back in the 1920's. They went straight to the cemetery, worried for the eight-year-old daughter still at risk. And then, of course, wasn't too happy about being burned. Melissa was using her salt gun for about ten minutes in defense of the grave before it was over.

Now it was only five, and the hunt was done. Melissa felt accomplished. She loved the high after a hunt. Almost as good as heroin. It was such an odd combination of serenity and exaltation.

"Hey," Dean looked over at her as she was basking in the sound of Mick Jagger crooning softly through her speakers. They had been listening to the Stones for the entire hunt. Lord knew there was enough of their music to last at least a few days. "After we clean up a little...you wanna go out for some beers?"

"You think I'm gonna say no?" she answered. Dean smiled.

"Well, I'm buyin.' I owe you a drink from that first night," he said.

"Okay, no," Melissa said back with a bite, "I'm paying for my own damn drink. You don't owe me anything."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Dean replied confidently. "We'll just see when we get here."

. . .

The bar was almost empty, even for a Tuesday night, and they were playing Creedence Clearwater Revival over the speakers. In short, Melissa couldn't have been happier with the surroundings. She sat opposite Dean in a cozy booth. The light in the place was orangey and outside the night was a dark blue. The wind was cold and Melissa had her leather jacket on inside the bar, still attempting to warm up even after ten minutes.

Once again, the idea of 'just friends' was gnawing at Dean. Tonight, she looked good. Well, she always looked good, but tonight was different. After washing her face and changing her clothes in the bathroom of their motel room (Two double beds, no funny business. But, it had been awkward when the front desk man thought they were a couple. Though Melissa, being Melissa, laughed it off and then made up a story about how they were cousins on the way to the funeral of their dear aunt Agnes. Once again, Dean was impressed by her antics. After all, she had to have her fun somewhere.) she had let her hair out of its braid. It was long and messy around her pale face. And she was feeling adventurous, so she put on some lipstick and some mascara. She even undid the top two buttons of her black henley. She didn't have much cleavage, but she was taking what she could get.

Dean didn't really care about the makeup. He had never really been that kind of guy. She just seemed happier that night. Giddier or something. Her eyes were dancing instead of gloomy. Her face wasn't drawn in exhaustion or tension. She just looked so clear.

Immediately, as he noticed all this, watching her sip her drink, his heart sped up. He clenched his hands into fists and he excused himself to the bathroom, just so he could breathe. He didn't feel things like this. The only time he ever loved a girl was with Cassie, and she was a long time ago. Before Jess died. Before Sammy came back.

And with Melissa, it was different. Deeper, somehow. Cassie was a civilian, and no matter how hard she tried, she could never really understand him. Not even after he'd saved her from that racist truck a few months back. But Melissa? Melissa knew. She knew what it was like to lose everything, and she knew what it meant to hunt. Hell, she was even helping him through his father's death. She helped in little ways she didn't even know about. In the way he could talk to her like a regular person, in the way she made him feel at home. He never thought a woman could make him feel safe the way she did.

He looked in the cracked men's room mirror, hoping to have one of those angsty movie moments where you really see yourself. But all he saw was the same face he saw every day. He found nothing to solve the problem. He wanted her so bad. But he knew it wouldn't last. He broke everything. And he would only cause her more trouble. Even now he was worried about the amount of time she was spending with them. The more she learned about the Winchester boys, the more at risk she was. He sighed heavily and stormed out of the bathroom, putting on a brave face as he flopped back down into the booth.

He cleared his throat and smiled at her. She was on her second beer. "So, that Aunt Agnes bit was pretty good."

"Thank you," she said humbly, taking a little mock bow.

"Can you just make that stuff up on the spot?" he asked. She nodded in response. He let out a low whistle. "Quite the talent. And the line from _Spinal Tap_ was integral to the story, right?"

She nodded again, more fervently this time. "It was a bizarre gardening accident," she said in a thick british accent.

Den laughed heartily and sipped the last of his drink. After a pause in the conversation, Dean spoke again. "Hey...can I ask you a question?"

She leaned back comfortably against the ripped vinyl seat. "I'm an open book, Dean."

"I mean you knew my dad and all...so I was wondering...what was your dad like?"

Her face fell a little, but she didn't look all that sad. More just a little deflated. "Oh...he was…" she stopped to sigh. "He was complicated….Your dad went to Vietnam, right?"

Dean nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, so did mine. Drafted when he turned 18 in 1969. Marines. They were already married with one kid. I mean, I was the third kid so I don't know what he was like before the war…." she took a deep breath and smiled weakly. "But God was he a mean drunk afterwards. My mom used to tell me how different he was when she first met him. I don't really know. And he was on and off with Uncle Sam for six years, Dean. I can't imagine what he saw. I mean monster-on-human violence makes sense right? They're monsters; that's what they do. But human-on-human violence? To me, that seems a lot worse."

Dean looked up at her through sentimental eyes, but still he kept pushing. He didn't know why. He just felt like he needed to know everything about her. "Do you...do you mind if I ask how he died?"

She took another sip of her beer, still not feeling the buzz. A scantily clad waitress passed by, but Dean hardly gave her a glance. He only motioned for another drink.

"It's okay, Dean. I mean, you're right. I know about your father. You can know about mine," she assured him, seeming a little more confident now. "Car crash, actually. And not just my dad. I was home sick, and so was my sister. They were on their way to work and school. We only had one car…" she said, smiling fondly at the memories of her penniless childhood. "And it was winter in Georgia, so there usually wasn't much snow or anything. But it had rained the afternoon before, and by morning there was a patch of black ice. And off the road they went."

"All of them?" he asked quietly.

"Actually, my two younger brothers were gone right away. My oldest brother...and my parents...they stuck around for a while. Damn I hate hospitals…" she bit her lip for a minute, watching her hands as she fiddled with her drink. "But hey. I'd say now we're all pretty caught up. Your cards are on the table...and now, so are mine."

Dean blew out a long breath. "Well...looking at em? I'd say we're both cursed."

Melissa giggled, finishing her beer. "Yeah. I'd say so."

Just then, a stocky man came up behind Melissa, putting his arm across the length of her seat. She could feel his breath hot on the side of her face. It smelled like whiskey. And the night was still young. She grimaced and looked over to him. He was near fifty, with white streaks standing out against black in his scruffy beard. He sneered at her, his eyes on the small amount of cleavage she was flaunting.

"You wanna ride the wild stallion tonight, sexy lady?" he slurred.

Melissa only smiled thinly. "Hey buddy," she heard Dean start gruffly behind her. She put a hand up to stop him. She looked straight into the man's brown eyes.

"Sir, if you don't go bother someone else right now, we can just take this right outside," she said firmly. Dean noticed some of her Southern sneaking into her words.

The man stood up and barked a laugh. Melissa was just glad he wasn't breathing in her face anymore. "Little thing like you? I think you're in over your head there, missy," he said slowly. He was rocking on his feet a little.

Melissa narrowed her eyes and grabbed her revolver from the waistband of her old jeans. She moved it carefully in her lap, trying to hide it from the few other civvies in the bar. She pulled the hammer down with an audible _click_. "Try me."

The man's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon and he stepped back slowly. He bumped into a table behind him, then turned around, confused. He stumbled away without another word.

Melissa sighed heavily, replacing her gun as discreetly as she could. She went casually back to her empty bottle, fidgeting with it.

Dean was staring at her with a stunned expression. "Uh...Mel?" he asked. She looked up at him as if nothing had happened. "What the hell was that?"

She chuckled. "Relax, Dean. I wasn't gonna shoot him. In my experience, I've just found that one of the most surefire ways to get a drunk guy to leave you alone is to pull a gun."

"That's not just for drunk guys," he muttered and sighed. She sure had a way of keeping him on his toes. "That happen to you often?"

"Dean, I'm a woman. Of course it happens to me," she said with a bitter smile. "And, honestly, based on your reputation, I can bet you've done it at least a few times."

"What reputation?" he asked cluelessly. His voice raised to a higher pitch unconsciously and he cleared his throat as Melissa giggled. "What reputation?" he asked much lower.

"I told you that hunters talk. I know it ain't true, but I heard you take home a different woman every night," she said in a teasing manner, but he noticed the strain in her voice. It gave him a little foolish hope.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said defensively, his hands out in front of him. "It's not like that anymore, okay? I'm different...now."

Melissa shrugged skeptically. "If you say so."

He snorted. "I may do some hardcore flirting. But I _never_ do that. And I have _never ever_ said anything in relation to a 'wild stallion.'"

Melissa laughed. The alcohol still wasn't doing anything for her yet. "Yeah, that was a new one."

She shook her head a little, looking to where the man had stood. "Hey...you wanna try something a little harder?"

. . .

It was past eleven when Melissa finally got Dean to leave the bar. She hauled him sloppily to the car, nearly falling under his weight. Apparently, vodka wasn't his usual drink. But he had downed most of the bottle. Melissa didn't have more than a few sips. In all honesty, it was pretty amusing to watch him completely let himself go. Maybe she would have stopped him earlier if it wasn't so funny. He was mostly just telling jokes and doing impressions. It was harmless. He could even do a pretty good Jack Nicholson, and Melissa suspected it was more impressive when he wasn't plastered. But, when he started trying to hustle people in pool while _actually_ drunk, she decided enough was enough.

She sat him in the passenger side of the cab, taking a breather before she swung his feet into the truck. She shivered a little as she saw her breath puff out in front of her. Dean took her face in his warm hands, and Melissa didn't even notice herself leaning into his touch. Just as she had on that day at the hospital. She looked up at his glazed eyes and found it hard to pull away from him.

"You're cold," he slurred huskily.

"Yeah," she answered dumbly, not able to tear her eyes away from his. She hadn't really noticed how green they were until now. Even in the darkness.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked. Melissa smiled sweetly and laughed as he dropped his hands limply to his sides.

"Thank you, Dean," she said quietly. "I got mine, though. And it'll be warm at the motel." She stood up and hoisted him into her truck, closing the door with a loud _thud_ and a happy sigh.

. . .

The motel actually wasn't so bad. Compared to some of the dumps Melissa had lived in, at least. She managed to fling Dean into the bed eventually. He had been out like a light on the drive home from the bar, but the cold Ohio air seemed to wake him up a little on their way inside. He groaned as he lay in the near darkness. Melissa was bustling around the room. She turned on a little lamp on the dresser, not wanting him to get too much of a headache already. Then, she got a glass of water and some aspirin. Better to start a hangover remedy right away. She took off his boots and was working on his jacket when he gently grabbed her wrist.

"Hey," he said softly. He had a serious look and his eyes were glassy. "I don't want you not to like me. I know I do a lot of women. But since I met you…"

Melissa's breath hitched and she pulled away from him lightly. "Dean," she sighed, "Don't do that, now. You're wasted."

"No, I know, but...you don't get it. Melissa, everytime I see you it's...different. I think I'm in love with you," he slurred, his eyes fluttering slowly. He was almost asleep.

"So you're a lovey drunk, huh? Good to know," she said sadly. She half-wished she could believe him, but the other half of her was immensely glad she couldn't. Love just wasn't something she could do. It never worked for her.


	14. Chapter Six: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Looks Like Rain"** by Grateful Dead

 **Chapter Six** **:** Part Three

"Aren't you a borderline alcoholic?" she asked. "How'd you get _so_ drunk off of one bottle of vodka?"

He sat with his head in his hands as the old engine of the truck revved along. They'd only been on the road for about a half hour and Dean was dreading the rest of the trip. Melissa had already assured him it was okay for him to puke in her car, that people had before, but that she would just like a warning. But with how much he loved Baby, it was pretty much against his whole moral code to puke in anyone else's ride. Let alone hers.

"I don't know, Mel. I really don't know," he said miserably. "I usually go for something dark and strong. I guess the clear stuff works a little differently on me."

"Well, in a couple hundred miles I know a pork joint with a sandwich that'll fix ya right up," she said, followed by Dean's agonized moan. She bit back a chuckle.

"Sit up, Dean, you'll feel better," she told him, thinking to the years she took care of her sister. He glared over at her as he sat back. Melissa winked cheekily at him and rolled down the window, letting the brisk fresh air fill the cab.

"Do you...even remember anything from last night?" she asked tentatively. She didn't know if she wanted a yes or a no.

"I remember some sailor-looking guy trying to feel you up...and I remember _you_ thinking somethin' stronger than beer would be a great idea. And after that...nada," he said in a surly tone. Melissa only laughed more.

"Well, I'll save you the suspense," she said. "I ended up paying."

He closed his eyes in distress and sighed. "Damn, now I owe you twice."

"No, you don't," she scolded.

He rubbed tiredly at his bloodshot eyes, not feeling up to an argument. "Thank you for the aspirin this morning."

He didn't mention the fact that he remembered telling her he loved her, or her taking off his boots and his jacket, or the way her face felt as he held it in his hands. She didn't seem very saddened when he told her otherwise, so for now he would just let it be. He couldn't tell if it was even love he felt for her, though it sure as hell seemed like it.

"No problem," she said. "I've helped myself and others out of many a hangover. Ya get pretty good at it after a while."

He let his eyes linger on her for a moment and then leaned his head against the seat. He hadn't been so hungover since before Sam got back into hunting.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" she asked lightly.

"What now?" he asked grumpily.

"Alright, calm down, it'll be worth your while," she shot back. "Go into the _Dead_ box and get Berkeley 1980."

He only looked at her sternly.

"Some loud headbangers ain't gonna help you right now," she said. "Just trust me, okay, you'll like this. And as you said, you owe me."

Dean rolled his eyes (which didn't help his headache) but went through the shoebox nonetheless. It didn't take him long considering the box was the only organized thing in her entire car. He popped the tape in and slumped back into his seat, smelling the morning air. Melissa was starting to get goosebumps from the cold even wearing her jacket but she didn't mention it. She squinted in the bright sunlight as she leaned over to skip to the song she was looking for. She had listened to it about a thousand times before, so she knew the second at which it started.

"Now this...is one of the most beautiful songs ever written," she said with a smile. Dean's eyes were closed and he gave no response as the song started.

 _Looks Like Rain_ poured through the speakers, and both of them stayed silent for the duration of the soft love song. Melissa couldn't stop smiling. That song seemed to her like the perfect balance between joy and sorrow. She had to bask in the glory every time she listened to it. As it finished, Dean opened his eyes a little bit and saw the warm smile on Melissa's face. He couldn't help but mirror it.

"Not so bad, right?" she asked hopefully, excited still as the tape went on to a more upbeat number.

He smirked and sighed defeatedly. "Alright...I'll give you this one."

 **Author's Note:** WOOHOO chapter six! Something a little different for you. An original hunt, if you will. Next week will be one of the hunts from the show so stay tuned if you're more into stuff like that. But, I also like the chapters that aren't all about the main storyline, but are more just about the character relationships. Anyway, let me know what you think of that.

Thank you so much for reading this week's installment! I really hoped you enjoyed it!

PLEASE review to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	15. Chapter Seven: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- **"Red House"** by Jimi Hendrix

\- **"Paint It Black"** by The Rolling Stones

 **Chapter Seven** **:** Part One

It was odd for Melissa not to call, but Dean wasn't too worried yet. It had only been a few days anyway. And for him, those few days had been a hell of a lot to deal with. Sam's premonitions were getting so much worse. And it was getting harder for Dean to kid himself into believing he wasn't scared. Calling Melissa actually was helping a bit. Ever since they'd left Bobby's a few weeks back, one would call the other every couple days or so. Just to make sure both were still alive. During their last call, before the afternoon that Sam had the vision of a doctor in a gun shop committing a murder-suicide, Melissa had been just near Jacksonville. It was early May and she was taking advantage of the heat down there.

Telling someone outside of the whole mess about how he felt was so much easier. He told her how he was on edge every waking minute he was around Sam, in fear of another vision that would incapacitate him. And he told her about their hunt for the Colt. It wasn't going well. All they'd managed to find so far was a nest of vamps (which led to him meeting that bastard Gordon,) and a zombie on some college campus.

But now they'd found another special child. And he was actually pretty kickass. Dean wished Melissa would just pick up the damn phone so he could tell her about his killer van with the warrior queen painted on the side, and the monster bong they'd found in the trunk. For Sam, the discovery of Andy Gallagher was not as pleasant. It seemed that every special child turned into a killer some way or another. Hell, Andy had killed his twin brother. (That fact gave Sam a bad taste in his mouth for about a million reasons.) But, it _was_ to save his girlfriend and Dean. However, it didn't matter to Sam. He was bound to become a stone cold murderer. Maybe he was already there.

For now, though, Andy was on the back burner. He seemed relatively harmless for the time being. So, they were camped out in some motel near Omaha. They were state-hopping, in search of either another case or a lead on the Colt. They might've stayed at the Roadhouse following the Andy Gallagher hunt (where they'd figured out that Andy's brother's mother didn't die in a house fire. The pattern was broken.) but Dean was feeling restless. He wanted a break from all the special children hubbub. He knew Sam probably did too. Ganking a few easy monsters would make both of them a little calmer.

Dean balled up his burger wrapper and took a sip of his drink. Sam was angsty as ever, but not in _completely_ terrible spirits. It was a little past seven and the evening was a light purple. Dean stared at his brother with furrowed brows across the small kitchen table.

"So…" he said, trying to fill the air with something not about the Colt or what seemed like their impending doom. "What do you think really went on between Marilyn and JFK?"

Sam paused for a moment and looked at his brother quizzically. "What?"

"I just-" Dean was cut off by a harsh, frantic knock at the door. The brothers looked to each other knowingly, grabbing their guns. Sam went out of sight, his gun cocked and ready to shoot an intruder. Admittedly, it was rare that an intruder would knock. But it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially for hunters.

Dean opened the door apprehensively, his gun held behind his back. He let out a sigh of relief when all he saw was Melissa. He threw the weapon on his bed behind him and nodded back to Sam that it was okay. He turned back to her and frowned. She had a large gash on her right cheek and dark bags under her eyes. She was holding her left wrist in her right hand, and her skin was somehow more pale than usual. To Dean, she almost looked like a ghost.

"Mel," he said softly and then wrapped her in a strong hug.

"Hey Dean," she returned, her weak voice muffled in his red flannel.

He stepped back from her a little and took her by the shoulders. "What happened?" he asked. He heard Sam's footsteps come up behind them.

She sniffed and looked around the room helplessly. "I w-was on that case in Jacksonville...and I got jumped by a whole pack of demons. I...I got thrown from a building. I mean...only one story but I think I was out for a couple days. I'm not really sure. And I went to a hospital...but you know I hate hospitals so I chickened out and left before they could do anything...a-and I...drove here."

"How the hell'd you find us?"

"I'm a hunter, Dean," she scoffed sadly. "I j-just tracked your cell. Y'know...because we've been c-calling each other," she glanced at Sam shyly and then looked to Dean again.

Her teeth were chattering as she stuttered, and he saw that her lips were tinged in blue. Immediately, he ushered her into the room. He sat her down on the end of his bed, then took Sam's comforter and wrapped it around her.

"Sammy?" he said. Sam looked up from his gaze on Melissa, as he had been watching the scene unfold. "Could you make some coffee?"

Sam nodded, tossing his gun on the bed beside Dean's. He turned around to the kitchen and went to work.

Dean rubbed his hands protectively over her arms in an attempt to warm her up. "It's okay, honey. Just calm down, alright? I'll go down to the office and try to find some more blankets. And we'll have some coffee and we can talk about this. Sound good?"

Melissa nodded, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She gulped and looked up at him. He nodded back and said no more, turning to the motel room door.

He was almost out of the room when he heard the hammer of a gun click down. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, it's always so much easier to play the victim when the meat suit already has some theater chops," he heard Melissa say with a vicious laugh.

He blew out a long breath and put his hands up in surrender. He turned back with his brows furrowed, and saw Melissa hold both his and his brother's guns in her hands. One was pointed at him, the other at Sam.

"Shouldn't leave your guns unattended, boys," she smirked. Sam looked at Dean nervously. "Oh, and Dean, don't even think about going for the knife I know you've got strapped to your leg."

. . .

Tying them up didn't take her long. Dean was cursing himself for not feeling the bunch of rope she had tucked into her waistband when he hugged her. They were back to back, their hands tied together. Melissa stalked in a circle around them, her hands on her hips and her face set in a smug expression.

"Lord, I've been lookin' for you boys for a helluva long time," she mused. She blinked and Sam saw her eyes flick to black. His jaw clenched.

"And I knew findin' you would be a treat, but golly, this is even more fun than I thought," the demon continued. Dean only glared at her. "Gettin' to jump _the_ Melissa Lowry? I don't know if y'all know this, but your girl here? She's killed alomost as many demons as your father did."

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. The demon caught this and smirked. "Oh, yeah. She's pretty famous down under. And I'm so glad I'm gonna be the lucky one who gets to kill her. This'll be fantastic for my resumé."

"You goin' for the big promotion next month?" Dean asked. He had to keep her occupied while Sam got to work on the knot keeping them together. He had giant monster hands, so it was easier for him to get them out of their bind. She had tied it well and tightly, but Sam knew from experience that all knots would untie eventually.

She laughed wickedly. Dean saw her eyes flash black and he gripped his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He was getting real damn tired of demons.

"Maybe…" the demon smirked. "Maybe I'll go for something a little more ambitious. Bringin' Sam Winchester to my boss. Get this process goin' already. I mean, damn...what's it been? 23 years? It's about time now. Cut out the middle man, y'know?"

Sam's eyes widened and he gulped. But still, he kept at loosening the knot. The demon was too busy with her monologue to notice. _The power hungry ones are always so sloppy,_ Sam thought.

"So you're working for yellow eyes, huh? Why are you comin' after Melissa, then? She doesn't have anything to do with this," Dean said gruffly. His eyes locked with hers. What had once been so full of life looked vacant to him now.

"Seriously, Dean?" the demon chuckled. "I mean, how many times have you called her in the past few weeks? We've got eyes everywhere. We know what you've been telling her. Besides jumping your bones, she's the next best thing. And honestly? She's got the better figure."

Dean rolled his eyes. Demons never seemed good at getting to the point.

The demon looked down at Melissa's body. "The tits could use some work, though."

"So, why the hell'd you tie us up if you're just gonna take us to yellow eyes anyway?" Dean growled. He could feel the rope loosening a little from his wrists.

"Well, I've got my orders. But, way I see it...it's so much easier to do my job with you gone. I guess I didn't really have to tie Sam up. But what girl doesn't enjoy a little bit of bondage?" she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Dean grimaced.

Something told Dean this demon wasn't high up on the payroll. She seemed a little wishy-washy. A little crazy. It made him uneasy. He'd never dealt with a rogue demon before.

"Well, since I get to hear all about your kinks, we should probably get better acquainted. I'm Dean, and I believe you know my brother Sam," Dean said.

"Hi," Sam grumbled from the other side.

The demon smirked. "Well, I hoped you'd guess my name," she said, stopping to wink. The Stones reference only made Dean miss the real Melissa more. "But, since you haven't yet; I'm Tannin."

"Pleasure," Dean said shortly.

Tannin's smile only grew as she got close to Dean's ear, gripping his thighs tightly. Dean could feel her breath on his neck and tried to lean away from it, but he didn't want to mess up Sam's attempts to free them.

"Oh, sweetheart," Tannin purred. "It _sure is._ "

"Get the hell away from me," Dean said, squirming from her close proximity.

She cackled as she backed away from him, gesturing with the one gun that remained in her hands as she spoke. The other one was tossed haphazardly on the rickety kitchen table. "I can hear her, y'know. She's a fighter, this one. But that's to be expected of a hunter so well known downstairs. And she just slips through your fingers when you try to catch her. It's remarkable."

She started to pace in front of him slowly. Menacingly. Something about her walk looked animalistic to Dean. "I never knew why she did it. I mean, everyone knows why you two hunt. It's old news. But this girl? She's got about five different soap operas worth of memories. It's all jumbled up in here. God! But, you know, I think my favorite one is the night she killed her sister."

Dean perked up a little.

"Oh," Tannin said gleefully and she stopped to face Dean. "You didn't know? It's quite the tale. Don't let that little Georgia Southern bell schtick fool ya. And you know she loves you right?"

Dean closed his eyes. He was glad he couldn't see Sam's face. His brother had harassed him about his alleged crush on Melissa over the past couple months. Of course Sam had seen it. The way Dean wasn't drinking as much or bringing home anymore women from the bars. The way he would go on and on about a little joke or story Melissa had told him on their call the night before. It would have been annoying if it wasn't so nice to see Dean happy about something. Especially since their Dad died. But now, Dean knew, the demon was lying. Melissa didn't love him back. She couldn't. It was fucking with him. The way they always fucked with him.

"Stop," Dean said quietly, venom lacing his voice.

"She's head over heels. Ever since that night with the vodka. Oh, but she's just so scared. The poor baby," Tannin cooed mockingly. Dean's face reddened in anger. "It might even be cute if it wasn't so pathetic."

Dean relaxed a little as he felt the rope finally drop from his hands. After that, it was all very fast. Immediately, he kicked the Tannin's legs out from under her. It was swift, and she fell to the floor backwards with a _thud_ , dropping her gun _._ She hit her head hard, but Dean didn't have time to be concerned. He pinned her arms down to the ground as she struggled. But soon, Sam took a minute to splash her with holy water. She screamed in pain and Dean shut his eyes tightly. He'd never heard Melissa scream before. And he knew it wasn't really her, but the whole meat suit thing was quite a convincing illusion.

Sam was scrambling around to find the book that contained the exorcism. It only took it a minute to snatch it from his duffel, hidden amongst the few flannels and pairs of jeans. Tannin fought viciously as Dean held her down. She was reaching for the gun.

"Come on, Sammy," he pleaded, breaking a sweat.

"Okay, okay," Sam said and swallowed harshly. He went on with the Latin as fast as he could. He had it half memorized, but he stumbled over his words a little as he watched Dean wrestle Tannin. It was harder when you knew the person who was possessed.

Dean was straddling Tannin as he gripped her forearms. She spat at him and he grimaced. She started to writhe in pain underneath him as the exorcism went on. She screamed and coiled into a ball on the tacky motel carpet. Dean backed off of her and watched, motionless, as she uttered one final screech and the black smoke poured in a stream from her throat. After that, Melissa crumpled into a limp heap on the floor and the smoke left through an air duct.

Instantly, Dean took her in his arms and Sam was crouched down beside them. He ran a hand through his scraggly hair nervously and bit his lip.

"Is she alive, Dean?" he asked.

Dean felt for a pulse and let out a short breath. "Yeah...yeah. It's still strong. She'll be alright. Just passed out."

"Do you think…do you think we should try to wake her up? I mean I feel like if she got a concussion on her way down….we shouldn't let her sleep."

Dean thought for a moment, then nodded at Sam. He hoisted her up bridal style with a little grunt, then flopped her back onto his bed. Sam was by his side again. He looked to Dean nervously, awaiting a plan.

"Um…." Dean said with his hands on his hips, looking at her. She seemed so small and wilted like this. "Go a bucket of ice. We're going old school with this one."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, here's a little mid-week half-chapter! Please thank _**Demona Evernight**_ for requesting quicker updates. Thank you so much for your lovely review! I think I prefer Melean to Delissa. Thoughts? ;)

Also, I'd like to give a special shoutout to _**KathleenWinchester**_ for the wonderful reviews! Thank you so much. It means a lot to get feedback, and I feel so flattered! I'm sure Melissa would also be flattered hearing you call her a badass. :)

I hope you liked this. The other parts of this chapter will be posted as soon as I'm finished, so sit tight! Thank you so much for reading.

PLEASE review and let me know what you thought of this installment! Thank you again!

Peace and love.


	16. Chapter Seven: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Helpless"** by Neil Young

\- _"_ **Pigs On The Wing Pt. One"** by Pink Floyd

 **Chapter Seven** **:** Part Two

"For the love of god," Melissa groaned, "If I don't stop shaking, I'm gonna start shootin.'"

Dean took the coffee cup out of her hands slowly as he sat down next to her at the kitchen table. She glared at him but didn't put up a fight.

"Alright, Bambi," Dean said, "why don't we lay off the joe for a few minutes, huh?"

She nodded at him and sighed heavily. A chill went through her and she shivered, wrapping the comforter around herself more tightly. Dean looked worriedly at her as he sat back in his kitchen chair. Sam seemed just as concerned as he took his seat across from her. Melissa cleared her throat and sniffed.

"So...it was one of yellow eyes' minions?" she asked.

"Yeah. Something like that," Dean replied guiltily. They should have never let her get so close to them. She only nodded back at him. He couldn't read her emotions. All he knew was that she seemed exhausted.

"What parts do you remember?" Sam asked.

"Well," she started with another sigh. "I was in Jacksonville, and I thought I was going after just a couple demons. It was a little more than I bargained for. They threw me out of the building and I hit my head and...just...I don't remember right after that. But then I was in a gas station and I musta knocked out the cashier or something. And I was driving here. And I remember tying y'all up. But that's it. Mostly I just remember being...inside. Trying to get out. Trying to get someone to hear me."

Melissa was resting her head in her right hand, staring down at the table. Trying to piece through the events from the past however long made her feel slightly nauseous. Sam clenched his jaw and had to look away from her.

Dean took a sip from Melissa's coffee and then set it back down in front of her. "Alright, well, why don't I take a look at that wrist, and that cut on your cheek...and we can all just take it easy tonight? It's over now. And we'll get her, don't worry."

Melissa nodded skeptically.

"No, Mel," Dean said again, more firmly. She looked at him and her eyes were watery again. "I _promise_ you, we're gonna get her."

. . .

Just deep breaths. That's what Melissa was focusing on. Though she hadn't smoked pot in years, she sure wished she had some now. It seemed like the appropriate time for a relapse. She leaned against the railing of the motel's walkway. It was night, and there was no one out. The solitude had never felt so suffocating to her before. She didn't know what it was about the Winchesters that made life feel so dull when she wasn't with them.

It was strange to feel so helpless. She was still shaking but she was slightly warmer. After a shower in the crappy motel bathroom and a change into Dean's dry pajamas, she was feeling a little better. But outside it was chilly, and her wet hair certainly wasn't helping. Though it was worth it to be able to think. To smell the fresh air and feel relieved she'd made it out. Her body was hers again.

She was wondering why so many motels she had come across were named after birds. She had seen a lot of bluebirds and a lot of cardinals in her time on the road. This one was called _The Magpie_. Its neon sign featured a blackbird sleeping inside a crescent moon. She heard the door open behind her and Dean came up on her side.

"How are you?" he asked.

She smiled, avoiding eye contact. "I'll live. Wish I had some pot right about now, though."

"Y'know, these days they say smoking kills," he said, looking up at the stars. The night was impossibly clear and the moon was bright.

"And whiskey kills faster," she retorted. He chuckled.

"And hunting kills the fastest," he said quietly. A slight breeze blew and Melissa shook more violently than she already was. She rubbed at her bare arms, clad only in Dean's black t-shirt and his pajama pants, cuffed a few times to be short enough for her.

"Yeah, it will," she sighed with a bitter laugh.

"You want me to bring the blanket out or something? Or we could go back inside? There's no wind in there," he said.

"I'm fine Dean," she snapped, followed by a heavy sigh. "Sorry. I just-...I feel weird, y'know?"

"Yeah...I...I know," he said guiltily. "We should have never gotten you involved in this."

Much to Dean's surprise, Melissa began to laugh at this. "You say that like I didn't know what I was doing. Dean…" she paused, studying the cars in the parking lot before them. "I knew _exactly_ what I was doing when I started hunting with you guys. I mean, your dad isn't the only reason I hunt, but I wouldn't have started without him."

"Damn," Dean said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she finally looked over at him and smiled softly. "I made my peace with it a _long_ time ago. Sometimes I just get a little overwhelmed."

Dean nodded. It was odd to hear a hunter not so hungry for vengeance.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, taking her left hand gently. She turned towards him completely and tried to put on a brave face.

"It's okay," she said, shrugging it off. It was wrapped tightly and still throbbing, but the burning ache she'd felt after coming to was gone. "Um...thank you. For...fixing it. I'm sorry I tied you up."

"It wasn't you," he told her firmly, then took her in a strong hug. She was caught a little off guard, but hugged him back after a moment. He felt her lean into him as she always did and she closed her eyes. They held onto each other tightly. It was almost desperate.

"Thank you," she said, more sincerely this time.

"You're welcome," he replied huskily.

She pulled away from him and put her hands on her hips, trying to blink away the glassiness in her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "Do you wanna go for a drive? I'll let you pick all the music."

. . .

Dean could not find his keys. Sam watched him in confusion as he bustled around the room almost comically, checking under pillows and behind the TV.

"What the hell, man?" Sam asked.

Dean looked up, his eyes wild with anticipation and a big grin crossing his face. "Melissa and I were gonna go for a ride around town. Just to calm down and stuff. She's still pretty shaken up. But, damn it, I can't find my keys anywhere. And she'd waiting outside for me and she's already half frozen-"

"Okay, okay," Sam laughed as he put his hand up to stop Dean, "slow down, dude. They're in the bowl by the door."

Dean practically bounced over to the door and grabbed his keys triumphantly. He was about to rush back to Melissa when Sam spoke up again.

"But, are you sure you wanna do this?"

"What?" Dean asked flatly.

"Dean, I know you like her," Sam started and Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, come on, don't kid yourself. I _know_ you do. But she just survived a possession. You're not gonna try anything, right?"

Dean sighed heavily and looked down. "Sammy, I know what I am. But this...is different. I won't do anything. I just...I just wanna make her feel better," he said. At the end, adding, "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Sam chuckled. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises."

. . .

The road in Omaha was steady and flat, and Dean felt half calm for the first time in a while. Melissa laid with her head in his lap, his brown leather jacket draped across her to keep her warm. Pink Floyd was playing softly through the speakers, and Dean hummed along contently. She'd started out pretty chatty, but slowly, began to yawn, and eventually fell asleep with her head against the window. And about a half hour later, still mostly asleep, she'd laid down on him. He knew she'd didn't know what she was doing, and almost tried to stop her, but then decided against it. She was beyond exhausted, and he figured it wasn't worth it to wake her.

He couldn't shake his feelings. It was so foreign for him to feel this way about anyone that it was impossible to ignore. She was on his mind all the time. Her laugh, her freckles, the way she seemed to be able to keep calm in almost all situations. How she challenged him in ways that even Sam didn't. And he knew demons always lied, but he couldn't help but hold onto the fact that Tannin had said she loved him back. The other things the demon had said also loomed in the back of his mind, as he knew they were in Sam's as well. Like Melissa killing her sister and exorcising almost as many demons as his father. But tonight, he decided to just think about her as he knew her. The way he knew that she was. Rumors could wait.

She was still such a mystery to him. She wasn't cut and dry. Every time he saw her he felt a different way, noticed a new idiosyncrasy. But as much as he enjoyed it, it was breaking him. He knew he could never say anything. He didn't know the first thing about how to love, and he knew no hunter could keep the people who meant the most. (Maybe not even Sammy, but that was an issue for another night.) It didn't matter that everyday he was falling deeper and faster. It could never be.

So, it was with a heavy mind that he made his way back to the motel. The album had ended, and it was just past midnight as he took the keys out of his Baby. He wrapped his jacket tighter around her and carried her back to the room, and she didn't even stir. He wondered vaguely what she was dreaming about. The room was dark and he heard Sam snoring and soon as he walked in. He did;t bother turning any lights on. He laid her down on his bed and then carefully tucked her under the covers. Her face was serene and the moonlight shined a silvery blue on her dark hair through the window.

He stood for a moment, and hesitated a little as he leaned toward her, before kissing her on the forehead softly. He had a small smile on his face and thought back to the night shad had tucked him in as he took off his boots and laid down on the short, lumpy couch. His legs were hanging over the end and he could already feel his back stiffening up. But, in that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, a pretty short chapter this time but I wanted to give a little insight into Dean's feelings. It'll make more sense in the context of the next chapter, which will be up by next Sunday. So please bear with me for a little longer!

Thank you to _**rainydaywritings**_ for your kind review! I think for now we can agree to disagree on the Melean/Delissa issue! ;)

PLEASE review and let me know what you thought of this installment! Thank you so much for reading!

Peace and love.


	17. Chapter Eight: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Chelsea Morning"** by Joni Mitchell

 **\- "Run Through The Jungle"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

 **Chapter Eight** **:** Part One

Melissa had yet to change into her own clothes by mid-morning. She sat on the end of what would have been Dean's bed, watching the news for any weird crap that needed her attention. Dean sat down next to her, handing her one of two cups of coffee he held carefully in his hands.

"Thanks," she told him absentmindedly as she focused on the TV. He chuckled at her ambivalence. She sat cross legged, swimming in his clothes with her hair messy from sleep.

"No problem," he returned, taking a sip. A commercial started following a routine plane crash story and Melissa finally broke her gaze.

"Hey, I'm sorry I fell asleep in your car and stole your bed and everything. Pink Floyd always knocks me out," she said sheepishly.

"It's okay," he smiled. "You were in pretty rough shape last night. I figured a bed might help."

"Yeah. Thanks," she looked down at her mug for a minute, trying to hide the redness in her cheeks. She looked back at Dean and smirked.

"I see sleeping on the couch did nothing to help that haircut," she teased, running her hand through his messy locks. He blushed back at the intimate gesture but didn't say anything.

Sam snorted a laugh from his spot at the table where he was reading the newspaper. He was amused by her comment, but also the blatant flirtation between the two. Both of them were a little oblivious, or so it seemed to Sam. After all, he knew Dean loved Melissa, and Tannin said Melissa loved Dean. Admittedly, the demon also said Melissa killed her sister, which he doubted very much. But still, to Sam the attraction seemed so obvious it was almost painful.

Dean cleared his throat. Melissa giggled a little seeing him so flustered. "You wanna talk about bad haircuts?" Dean said once he had composed himself again. "Why don't we discuss Fabio over there?"

He pointed to Sam and Melissa chuckled before taking another sip of her black coffee. The confident voice of the reporter came back on the TV with the urgency of breaking news.

" _A new story out of Omaha this morning. Yesterday evening, just outside of town, a brutal shooting occurred at a gas station of off Route 86. Local father of five, Gary Lewis, was gunned down at his register just after 8. We have just received footage of the incident, which we are about to show in efforts to capture the suspect, who is still on the run at this hour. We must warn you, the video you are about to see is_ extremely _graphic."_

Melissa's breath hitched in her throat as the grainy footage start to play. It was her. At the gas station she remembered. It came back to her in flashes. The sound of the slushie machine, the dim yellow lights. The look on Gary Lewis' face as she pulled the trigger. And she watched it over again. She thought she heard Sam and Dean talking, but it sounded muffled as she watched the screen.

She didn't even look around the store, just went straight to the register. Only a couple seconds later, Tannin shot Gary at point blank range. For no apparent reason. She blew on the tip of her gun theatrically, then turned to face the security camera and winked. Melissa fought the urge to gag. The newscast cut to a shot of Melissa's winking face and her license plate, also very clearly displayed on the security footage. She blinked tears from her eyes as the reporter pleaded for anyone with information regarding the murder to call Omaha police.

Melissa sat stunned, as Dean, who had been searching for the remote, snapped the TV off. Sam had come to lean against the fridge, his forgotten coffee cooling in his idle hands. Melissa continued to stare at the black screen and Dean brought a gentle hand to her shoulder.

"Mel?" he said softly, his brows furrowed in concern.

She took a heavy sigh. "I am so fucked."

. . .

Motion sickness had never been a problem for Melissa before, but now her head ached and her stomach churned with waves of nausea as she sat in the backseat of the Impala. She never thought she would be back in her hometown, especially on only her second case after being forced to abandon her car in Bobby Singer's lot and accompany the Winchesters in order to keep herself hidden. As it turned out, having her face plastered all over the news as the culprit of a cold-blooded murder was not really doing much for Melissa's reputation.

But still, Dean assured her it'd be fine if she tagged along with him. In fact, both Sam and Dean had seemed pretty eager to have her come with. She would have argued against hunting together, but honestly, she was just so tired. Tired of driving night and day, talking to herself and her weapons, only ever talking to another human when acting as someone else. It was just too nice to hear them call her by her real name. To wake up and talk over coffee. They made her feel so _human_. She was tired of acting like a machine.

The first case had been easy, they were with Jo in an old hotel being haunted by H.H. Holmes. Mostly she'd just been crawling around in the walls with Dean. It was safe and fun. Like hunts alone never were. Jo had gotten captured at one point, but eventually everything worked out. When they got back to the Roadhouse things went south when Jo figured out why Ellen didn't trust the Winchesters. Turns out most people had a bone to pick with John. But for now they were just letting the Harvelles cool off. Ash was still searching for Yellow Eyes, and they were still waiting.

Melissa would have told them they were going to hunt a spirit in her old hometown, but she still felt like she needed to prove something to them. That wasn't true, and consciously she knew it. But she hadn't been close to anyone in so long, she didn't want to screw it up for herself like she had so many other things in her life.

So, she kept quiet when they came across the case the day before, after riding down to the Southeast to get as far away from Nebraska as possible. But now, she was starting to regret it. She'd felt much sicker after they'd passed the sign welcoming them to Lake Peachtree, Georgia. The Van Halen blasting through Baby's speakers was impossibly loud, and the mid-morning sunlight was too bright. Dean did a sharp turn onto a deserted road, and to Melissa it was all too familiar. Dean and Sam had both assumed she was asleep, as she hadn't said anything in a coupe hours. They were talking strategy for the upcoming case among themselves.

"Dean…" Melissa said quietly. Her voice rose as she continued. "Dean! Pull over!"

"What?" he asked over the music.

"I said, pull over!" she yelled frantically. She was grasping at the door handle. Dean saw this and slammed harshly on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the road. No one was around anyway.

"Melissa, what's wrong?" Sam asked, his eyes wide as Dean pulled the Impala's emergency brake.

She didn't say a word as she leapt out of the car and rushed to the side of the road. She fell to her knees and braced herself before losing her breakfast all over the grassy shoulder. Tears formed in her eyes and she felt utterly suffocated. It had rained in Lake Peachtree that morning, and the early June heat was baking the pavement, causing the air to stand with heavy humidity. She felt calloused hands pull her hair back as she continued being sick. Eventually, she felt less nauseated, scooting back onto the roadside with her elbows resting on her knees. She took deep breaths and Dean sat down beside her, rubbing her back gently. Sam was searching in the Impala for just one bottle of water. Or really any drink that wasn't alcohol.

"So...was that diner in South Carolina rat infested or something?" Dean asked as Melissa looked up towards the clear sky. She blew out a shaky breath. "Or are you comin' down with something?"

He brought a cool hand to her flushed cheek, checking for fever, and she closed her eyes. Dean felt her lean into him and he almost smiled at the familiar gesture. He would have if he weren't so worried. She didn't say anything, still facing upwards.

"Thanks for not puking in my Baby," he told her, taking his hand back from her face. "I wouldn't have been mad either way, since you gave me a pass that morning after I drank all that Vodka."

She gave a lopsided smile at the memory and finally opened her eyes. Sam came up behind them and handed her a half-drunk bottle from a couple days earlier. It was lukewarm.

"Thank you," she said, looking down at it and starting to peel off the label absentmindedly.

"You might not want to drink it anyway," he said with a chuckle. "We could get some more water in town that doesn't have organisms living in it."

She smiled over at him. "It's okay. This is fine," she said. She took a sip and grimaced, but then continued drinking. Sam saw her exhaustion. Her eyes looked hollow, and her face was slightly green.

"You coulda told us you're sick, y'know," he said. She turned back up to the sky.

"I'm not...um…" she started, feeling claustrophobic with a Winchester on either side of her. She sighed. "This is the town where I grew up."

Both brothers looked back at her. She could feel their eyes on her. "What?" Dean asked.

"I didn't want to tell you...I thought it would be fine. I just...I forgot this road would be on our way into town. I forgot what it looked like. Being here….it just..."

"What happened on this road, Mel?" Sam asked quietly, afraid of the answer. Dean was pretty sure he already knew what it would be.

"This is where my parents and my brothers...slid off the road," she sniffed.

The stunned silence that followed almost made Melissa want to throw up again. Her cheeks burned red with shame and she rested her head on her forearms. _Deep breaths,_ she told herself. She was expecting one of them to explode in shouts, angry at the fact she had lied to them. But instead, she felt Dean wrap an arm around her waist protectively and place a kiss on her hair before resting his chin on her head. Sam put a hand on her shoulder gently.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"I don't know," she sighed again. Her voice was a little muffled, but Dean didn't let her go and she didn't want him to. "I thought I would be fine. I just forgot...we would be here."

There was a beat of silence and Melissa felt herself relax in Dean's hold. She was almost sobbing, feeling how safe she felt. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way. It was easier to breathe with Sam and Dean around. As she sat, she came to a decision. Her decisive voice sounded a little amusing as it was still muffled.

"Let's just do it. I mean, I have to stay at the motel so that the cops don't find me anyway."

Dean raised his eyebrows and released her. He nodded a little at Sam, who nodded back. "If you're sure you'll be okay…"

"Yeah, yeah, I will," she assured him, finally lifting her head. She already seemed to have gotten her normal coloring back, but Dean was only half convinced. She was a little wobbly as she stood up, her hands on her hips as she looked down at them.

Dean would have argued more had he not noticed the nightmares she'd been having, or the way all she did as they rode in the car was watch the scenery pass them. Watching the demon inside her kill an innocent man, a father of five no less, on camera had really messed her up. She seemed like a shadow of herself, and he was worried this town would only make it worse. But he knew pressing her wouldn't help. She could be stubborn as hell when she wanted to be, and this seemed like one of those times.

Melissa looked around for a moment, still trying to feel less lightheaded and gather herself. She breathed in the humid air. The smell was so familiar it gave her the creeps. It was spooky to feel like you've just gone back in time ten years. She cleared her throat and looked them in the eyes, her expression somber but her voice not all that gloomy.

"I can't run from this place forever."

 **Author's Note:** This week was CRAZY. So, I only have this part of the chapter ready for publishing as of now, but the next parts will be up in the next few days, I promise. Thank you for being patient! I hope you like this chapter!

PLEASE review down below to let me think of the story so far. Or the road so far...;)

Thank you for reading!

Peace and love.


	18. Chapter Eight: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Both Sides Now"** by Joni Mitchell

 **\- "Nothing Else Matters"** by Metallica

 **Chapter Eight** **:** Part Two

Mixtapes had been a big part of Melissa's teens, and she figured why not further her trip down memory lane by listening to a few. When she had to leave her truck at Bobby's, she'd filled about a half a duffel with tapes. It was a good thing the other half could fit the rest of her belongings. She laid on the scratchy motel comforter, just the same as all the other beds in all the other towns. She laid with her hands behind her head, her eyes closed, and her breathing relaxed. She was halfway through one of her favorite Joni Mitchell songs spinning in her old tape player when she felt a hand brush her forearm. She took a sharp intake of breath and snapped her eyes open, propping herself up on her elbows.

She only saw a smirking Dean standing over her, clad a black tie and a white button up. She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, falling back onto her lumpy pillow and pulling off her big headphones.

"Every damn time," she groaned.

"Well, at least you're not immediately grabbing for your gun anymore," he replied, plopping down on the bed next to her.

"What can I say?" she said, sitting up and leaning back against her headboard. "I'm very adaptable."

"Yeah, I know," he said fondly, watching her with a careful eye. He and Sam had left to go do research and interviews at around noon, and it was now late evening. They decided it was best to keep Melissa in the motel room in case she got recognized, especially since she'd grown up in the small town of Lake Peachtree, where everybody knew everybody.

"You feelin' any better?" Dean asked.

She yawned into her fist and nodded. "I'm fine now. Really."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically but didn't say anything. She smiled a little at him and sat up all the way, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Pink Floyd, again?" Dean asked, pointing to tape deck.

"Nah, Joni Mitchell," she replied.

Dean rolled his eyes, and Melissa saw Sam sprawling out on the bed across from hers.

"Hippie," Dean scoffed.

"Shut up, her voice is beautiful. And her guitar skills are crazy, alright?"

"Just like Van Halen?" he shot back in a teasing threat.

She glared at him. "Don't bring Eddie into this."

He chuckled at her and she returned it before looking to Sam. "You a little tired over there, agent?"

He nodded and brought his arm across his eyes, then let out a groan. "I hate interviews."

"There was a...fiery old lady we had to talk to," Dean explained. "There was some screaming. She tried to kneecap him with her cane."

Melissa clapped a hand to her mouth to muffle her jolly laughter. Dean joined in with his own cackles and Sam peeked at them from one eye, shooting daggers. Melissa sighed in content as her giggles subsided. Maybe hunting with them would work out after all.

. . .

It turned out to be one of Dean's easiest cases in a while, a little boy who was killing off his old bullies after he drowned in the town's lake. They were on the road back to Bobby's by eight o'clock the next night, as they hadn't heard of any cases near them and they weren't just gonna stay in Lake Peachtree. Dean figured that town had already done Melissa enough damage. Sam, still recovering from the vicious attempt on his kneecaps and coping with the visions, was snoring in the backseat by nine. Melissa was getting more used to the Impala, the smell of the old leather seats and the roar of the engine. She liked it. Sure, it was no truck, but it was still one hell of a car. And it was a plus that her and Dean's tape collections could both be of use. One of Dean's Metallica albums played quietly through the speakers, in attempts not to disturb Sam. The visions had really been taking their toll lately.

It was past eleven and Melissa was dozing against Dean's shoulder. Though she hadn't even been involved in the hunt, apart from a little bit of research, she still felt exhausted. Everytime she fell asleep she saw the man she'd shot. She saw his children and his wife, and how alone they were because of her.

"Mel?" Dean asked in a low voice. She didn't respond. He nudged her with his shoulder as he tried again.

"Melissa?"

She slowly lifted her head and took a deep breath. "What's up?" she said groggily.

"I'm kinda hungry...you wanna grab a bite? I promise I'll keep you away from the security cameras."

She agreed, and as they were driving through the American South, they had no problem finding a fast food restaurant. They were just starting to eat when they saw a sign for a little park just near the South Carolina border. Melissa insisted they pull over and eat, still a little wary of motion sickness, even after a couple days. Dean rolled his eyes but complied. They left Sam, still out cold, to sleep in the car as they sat down at a very graffitied table overlooking the nearly empty parking lot.

Melissa felt oddly comforted by the buzzing of the yellow streetlight above them, currently being swarmed by moths. The night was a little balmy, but not overly so, and the crickets chirped warmly.

"Alright," Melissa said, then paused to take a sip of her drink, "Favorite movie?"

"Uuummm…" he said. "That's a hard one. Probably _Easy Rider_."

Melissa nodded in approval. "Surprisingly respectable. Your turn."

"Favorite book?"

" _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._ "

"Hippie," Dean said, then took the last bite of his burger.

She sighed in mock offense, then took her turn. "Why do you always wear that necklace?"

Dean's smile faded a little as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Um...it's a really long story but, Sammy gave it to me for Christmas one time. It's for protection."

"Hm," she said, nodding. "Did your dad ever do anything for Christmas?"

"No...not really."

"Oh," she said flatly as he looked past her and the parking lot to the pine trees.

"Hey, what was your mom like?" he asked her, a little out of the blue.

She paused for a moment, a little rattled by the question. She hadn't been asked about her mother in a long time. "Well...she was beautiful. Looked almost nothing like me. My favorite thing she used to do...she would sing me _Silent Night_ every time she tucked me in. I never asked my other siblings if that's what she sang them. I guess I'll never solve that mystery."

He smiled at her apologetically, and she looked back at him with clear eyes. Tonight, the memories didn't make her so sad.

"What about _your_ mom? All I ever heard from your dad was that she was the perfect woman."

Dean smiled wider. "Yeah, he loved her so much. If you wanna see...I have a picture with me."

She nodded enthusiastically, and he was already grabbing his wallet from the pocket of his green flannel. He pulled out an old, faded photograph of him and his mom. He didn't look older than three, and Mary had his arms around him, a bright smile on her face. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder, and she had Dean's same expressive green eyes.

"Wow, Dean she's-"

"I know," he mused, looking down at the picture fondly.

"You're pretty cute too, y'know," she teased as he put the picture away.

"I know. Perfect since birth," he replied jokingly.

She rolled her eyes, nudging him in the ribs. They looked back at each other and the moment was a bit too long, causing Melissa to blush and look away. Dean took a deep breath, then glanced at the Impala to check if Sam was still asleep, even though he couldn't see through the windows.

"I ran away once when I was a kid," she confessed after she collected herself. "I was nine. It was only a few months before...everything. I broke a glass and sliced my hand. My dad was so...mad. I don't know why. I tried to camp out in a field a couple miles away but I had no tent. It got too cold so I chickened out."

Dean laughed airily. "I almost ran away once, too. Sam was actually the first to run away. I think he was nine or ten...I don't know. Just a kid, anyway. I mean I was supposed to protect him...I'm the big brother, y'know? And he was just...gone. I didn't know if something got him or...I tried to find him before Dad got home...but I couldn't. I don't know if you ever saw him angry-"

Things had escalated quickly. Dean's eyes were glassy and his voice cracked. He heaved a shaky sigh and he couldn't help a couple tears snaking down his cheeks. He scrubbed at his face with one hand, trying to calm himself down. His eyes were closed as he felt Melissa's thin arms wrap around his shoulders. He gave in without even a thought, leaning against her and encircling his arms around her waist. And they hugged for what felt like a long time, breathing slowly. Melissa's heart was fluttering in her chest a the close contact, but she hoped Dean didn't notice.

A few more tears fell, dripping down Dean's chin and onto the shoulder of Melissa's black t-shirt. She didn't mind. After a little while, his breathing wasn't so shaky. He pulled away from her and looked down. He blushed and cleared his throat, embarrassed. He didn't think the memory would affect him so much, but now it was like he was back there. He could feel the pit of dread in his stomach, and the sting of his father's hand on his cheek. He remembered the bruises John had left from gripping his shoulders so hard.

Melissa was a little taken aback. She understood exactly what he meant. She had never seen John very angry, but she could certainly imagine it. She couldn't even begin to think about what it must have been like for Dean growing up. He wouldn't look at her, and he saw his cheeks redden. Her heart wrenched as she saw him trying unsuccessfully to get the tears to stop streaming silently down his cheeks.

"Hey, Dean," she said softly, gripping either side of his face so he would look at her. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he choked out gruffly, and finally his tears started to subside. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried in front of someone like this besides Sam or his father.

"No, it's not," she whispered in response. She ran her hand gently through the hair behind his right ear and down to the nape of his neck. She felt him shiver under her touch, goosebumps rising on his freckled skin.

Dean opened his mouth to reply when they heard someone clear their throat beside them. Both of them jumped in surprised, Melissa uttering a small gasp as she did so, and broke away from each other. Sam stood barefoot in the gravel parking lot, rubbing at his eyes, his messy hair sticking out every which way.

"What's goin' on, guys?" he asked, his voice raspy.

Dean cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Just uh...just havin' some dinner."

Sam only gave a tired, knowing smirk in response.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, there's part two! I'll try to get the last part of this chapter up shortly. Thank you for reading!

PLEASE review to let me know what you thought. Have a nice day!

Peace and love.


	19. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 **\- "Venus In Furs"** by The Velvet Underground and Nico

\- " **God"** by John Lennon

\- " **For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her"** by Simon and Garfunkel

\- " **Since I've Been Lovin' You"** by Led Zeppelin

 **Chapter Nine**

Melissa had never been more proud than when Dean asked to listen to her best mixtape. By her best, Melissa knew he meant the one with the most mindless stadium rock. But instead, she gave him one she knew would put him to sleep. And it did. It did take about an hour of occasional griping as he laid on the bed, her old giant headphones trapping him in the sounds of her teen years. But after a while, his breathing slowed, and his face relaxed, and it was the calmest she had ever seen him.

She could hear the voice of Lou Reed crooning softly as he lay next to her. She was halfway through her book and Sam was due back any minute, but Dean needed sleep. Hell, Sam needed sleep. The visions were getting more vivid. Luckily, there was no big fight between Sam and Dean when Dean admitted what his father had told him just before he died. That if Sam was too far gone, they would have to kill him. Things had only gotten tougher when Dean was caught _allegedly_ robbing a bank, while actually hunting a shifter. So now, they were both flying under the radar. The truth is, the news outlets were pretty much done going after Melissa's fugitive ass, but no one had mentioned her leaving. They were a team now. Sam and Dean (especially Dean) were both finding it nice to have her around. And not just as an extra body on hunts. More and more, she was starting to feel like family.

Autumn was beginning, and Melissa couldn't believe how long she had been hunting with them. Every few hunts, she would do a solo, if there were just too many weird happenings all at once. They had tried to avoid that lately, however, considering during her last solo hunt Dean had gotten kidnapped by Gordon Walker (who Melissa had never met but would've liked to kill regardless) while Sam sought after Ava Wilson, another special child who had visions just like him. So, for now, Melissa was stuck in the backseat of the Impala instead of the front seat of some junk car from Bobby's lot. Four whole months since being alone, and Melissa still hadn't fully gotten used to it. But the tide was slowly turning, and it was getting easy to open herself up to them. To be comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you could be when there was a yellow-eyed demon on your ass.

Sam came through the door with his arms full of fast food bags. Melissa's stomach growled as the smell filled the small room, and Sam chuckled as he set them on the table.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Little bit," she replied. She looked over at Dean, shaking his shoulder softly. When he didn't stir, she pulled off the headphones and ran a hand through his hair gently. It wasn't something she thought about before doing, but immediately felt her cheeks heat up when she realized Sam may have seen.

"Dean," she said, shaking him again.

He woke up slowly, unlike Melissa, groaning a little as his eyes adjusted to the light. He smirked up at her.

"Hey, Buddy Holly," he said gruffly, gesturing to her glasses.

"Yeah, mornin' sleeping beauty," she shot back, but Dean saw her slight blush and smirked.

" _That_ is the most depressing mix I've ever heard."

"What can I say?" Melissa told him, hopping off the bed towards the fries on the table. Sam was already settling in with his laptop and his salad. "I was pretty angsty. I know you liked it, though. It put you to sleep. You're welcome, by the way."

He snorted, waving a teasing, dismissive hand. "Ah, I was only asleep for a little while."

"Yeah whatever, tough man," she said, munching on a fry.

"So. Did ya get to see that crazy hooker?" Dean asked Sam from the bed with a yawn.

"Subtle, Dean," Melissa said, sitting back on the bed next to him. He stole one of her fries in retaliation and she smacked him lightly on the arm.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Gloria Sitnick. And I'm not so sure she's crazy."

"But...she seriously thinks she was touched by an angel?" Dean said, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward and she's totally at peace."

Melissa scoffed in disbelief but neither of the brothers acknowledged it.

"Oh yeah, that sounds pretty sane. What about the guy she stabbed?" Dean asked.

"Uh…" Sam started, typing in his password. "Carl Gully. She said she killed him 'cause he was evil."

"Was he?" Melissa chimed in.

"I don't know...I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. He didn't have a criminal record. He worked at the campus library...had lots of friends. He was a churchgoer."

"Right because all church people are saints," Melissa said bitterly. Sam was about to retort but Dean beat him to it.

"So then Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko. I mean, she wouldn't be the first person to kill in the name of religion, y'know what I mean?"

"No, but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't ya think?"

Then, as Melissa was growing accustomed to happening, Sam and Dean got into a little spat. This time about whether angels were real. And there was almost no way in hell Melissa would ever believe in angels or God anyway. So, she just sat back and ate her fries as she watched Sam and Dean argue.

. . .

Rhode Island was too far north for Melissa's taste, and she shivered as they made their way down to Carl Gully's basement. Gloria had told Sam he was guilty to his deepest foundations, so why not take things literally? It was a good place to start, anyway. The smell of dampness and moth balls was overwhelming, and it made her want to gag only a little. And this whole angel business was really starting to make her uncomfortable. The religious cases always rubbed her the wrong way, only reminding her of her Methodist roots and the years in between then and now that had really shaken her faith.

They searched around for a moment. The ancient artifacts scattered around the small gave Melissa chills up her spine, not just from the lack of heating. There was a rocking horse with a painted on face that really gave her the creeps, and a porcelain clown great tufts of orange hair. It looked like a toy exposition from the 1800's, and she wanted what they were doing in the basement of a librarian anyway.

"Hey," Sam called from the corner farthest from the stairs.

"You got something?" Dean asked as both he and Melissa walked over to where Sam was crouching. Sam dug in the wall for a second, then pulled back something small in his large hand that Melissa was having trouble making out in the dim light.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's a fingernail," Sam replied, holding it up in the light of her flashlight.

The three hunters shared knowing looks. Dean pulled shovels from the wall of gardening tools beside them and they began to dig without another word. Slowly, they dug a deep pit and discovered what looked to be at least four full skeletons. Melissa blew out a tired breath and wiped at her brow with her wrist.

"Dammit," she sighed, leaning back against the wall of the pit.

"Yeah...so much for innocent churchgoing librarian," Sam said into the musty air.

"Well, whatever spoke to Gloria about this knew what it was talking about," Dean said in a surprised tone. "I'll give you that."

. . .

 _Another day, another angel-influenced murder_ , Melissa thought to herself as they climbed through the window of the second victim's house. It was afternoon, and that morning Sam had gone into town in his FBI gear to do some research about the college library. Turns out, three kids had disappeared from there. And as he was out solving the last of that mystery, Melissa and Dean were still on house arrest and police radio duty. It was just after ten when they heard about a man being stabbed in the heart. The perpetrator, a local drunk, later confessed to the cops that an angel made him do it. So off again they were, to discover whatever the victim's deep dark secret was.

His house was a little less disgusting and unkempt than Carl Gully's had been, but that didn't make Melissa feel any more at ease. There was something fishy about this case. She couldn't put her finger on it. They landed right in his bedroom, so Sam immediately went for the computer and got to work on his password. Melissa and Dean split up and snooped around the house before running straight into each other in the kitchen.

"Whoa, easy, slugger," Dean chuckled, grabbing her by her leather-clad shoulders as they collided.

She only smiled thinly in response. He didn't let go of her as he furrowed his brows.

"Are you okay?"

"What? No...yeah..I'm um...I'm fine," she said. It was the first time he'd heard her stumble over her words like that in a while.

"Are you sure? You just seem...quiet or something today," he said, searching her eyes.

"I promise, Dean. I'm fine," she said with a weak smile in an attempt to convince him.

He raised his eyebrows and let her go with a little nod. "Okay...if you say so. But you know you can tell m-"

"Yes, yes Dean I know," she cut him off with a chuckle. "Now, come on, let's see what the boy genius dug up."

. . .

"Find anything?" Dean asked, walking through the threshold to the bedroom with Melissa in tow.

"Not much...except this one locked file…" Sam trailed off, typing fast. Melissa raised an eyebrow at Dean and he shrugged. It took Sam only a moment longer to break into the file.

"There we go!" he announced with a triumphant grin. Melissa and Dean came up behind him.

"Well, he's got all these emails….Dozens...to this lady named Jennifer," Sam said. There was a beat of silence before he continued. "This lady who's thirteen years old."

"Son of a bitch," Melissa grumbled, stepping back. Her vernacular was changing a little since teaming up with the boys. Sometimes, she even let her Southern show.

"Looks like they met in a chatroom, and they were setting up a place to meet...today," Sam said.

"Huh," Dean replied. "Well, I guess if you're gonna stab someone, good timing. I don't know, man, this is weird, y'know? I mean, sure, some spirits are out for vengeance, but this one's almost like a do-gooder. Like, like a…"

"Avenging angel?" Sam offered.

"No, Sam," Melissa said from the doorway, a bite in her voice. "Not a chance."

"Well, how else you do explain it, Mel? I mean, two guys completely unconnected," Sam argued. "I mean, sure, they were both world-class pervs but-"

"Hey," Dean interrupted, inspecting the cluttered dresser top.

"What?" Sam asked, a little irritated. He was one against two in the angel debate. It wasn't working out for him so far, even though the evidence was in his favor.

"You said Carl Gully was a churchgoer right?"

"Yeah…"

"What was the name of his church?"

"Our Lady of the Angels?"

Melissa snorted and turned to leave.

"Hey, would you stop?" Dean scolded and she didn't even cast him a glance, only sauntered out of the room. They waited a moment, then heard the front door slam behind her. Dean sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is she alright?" Sam asked, his voice now free of anger, only concerned. Now that he thought about it, she'd been acting weird since that morning.

"Y'know what, I don't know…" Dean said. "Anyway. It looks like both vics, if we can call 'em that, went to the same place to pray." He held up a church flier with a statue of an angel, and Sam nodded.

"Why don't you look up that church? I'm gonna go see what's the matter," Dean told him, then promptly made his way to the front stoop. Melissa sat with her arms wrapped around herself, leaning forward and watching her breath come out in white clouds. Her leather jacket wasn't helping her very much.

"I'm sorry," she said as Dean sat down beside her. She didn't look at him. She watched little kids playing in their front yard across the street, a girl and boy kicking a ball around. She couldn't see any adult with them and it made her nervous, especially knowing who had been living across the street from them.

"It's okay...just-what's going on with you?" he asked.

She sniffed, studying the half-melted snow that lined the sides of the pavement. It looked a sickly gray color, having mixed with gravel.

"I told you I was the churchy type, right? Yeah well...it was pretty hardcore for a while. Southern Methodist," she told him with a sad chuckle. "That's a fun ride. It was every Sunday...floral dresses and shiny Mary Janes. I mean, they weren't so nice, we didn't have a damn penny, but my mother was so proud when the clothes she made came out nice. I even stole a couple pairs of shoes over the years. After the car crash, when the three of them were on the ventilator...I prayed so hard."

She looked down at her frozen hands. They were shaking but her eyes were dry. Dean stayed silent.

"No one answered. I...me and my sister went to go live with my aunt and uncle in Maine for a couple years after. They still made me go...but I haven't believed since I was ten years old. Since the day my mom died. Did I ever tell you she was the last to go?"

"No," he said quietly.

"I don't know, just all the God talk and everything. It's just a little too close to me sometimes."

"I'm sorry, Missy," he said. Melissa smirked warmly. No one had called her that in a long time. "I didn't know."

"It's not your fault," she said, her voice steady and calm. "I guess I shoulda told you. I don't know. I'm sorry I've been a bitch today."

"No, no, it's fine. I get it," he said. "I mean my dad's in hell...because he saved me. If there's one thing I get...it's not believing."

"Dean, you know it's not-"

"No. It is. It's my fault. I never would've woken up from the coma if he hadn't...And I know he's there. That crossroads demon told us, remember?"

"Demons lie," she told him hopefully.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he said curtly, but not angrily. His eyes were glassy and Melissa knew to back off.

"Alright," she sighed. "well, enough of that crap. I mean...if it _is_ an angel...I sure would love to give it a piece of my mind."

. . .

Bobby's dusty old couch didn't look too inviting, but it sure was comfy. Melissa dozed as she and Dean were just finishing up their second Clint Eastwood movie of the evening. It hadn't been an angel, just the vengeful spirit of a priest who had been shot outside the parish. It had been cleared up with a little seánce performed by Melissa and Sam. Dean had been busy chasing after what they knew would be the next victim, after Sam too had been touched by the 'angel.' But Dean wasn't sure what had happened next.

His lack of faith wasn't exactly shaken, but he was certainly less skeptical than he had been before the case. When he finally caught up to the man Sam was supposed to kill, he saw the guy trying to attack a woman in his car. Dean got to her and let her out of the car, but the chase wasn't over. The dick managed to speed away before Dean got a chance to beat the hell out of him. His heart had been beating fast with anger, riving through grass and over medians, anything to get to the scumbag.

But, as a long metal pipe on the truck in front of the man's car came down through his windshield, Dean's work was over. He got out and studied the way the pipe was piercing right through the man's chest. If there was anything he knew from years on the job, there was no such thing as a coincidence. And he wasn't fully sold on the idea of an act of God, but he was warming up to it. Honestly, it would be nice to have anything to give him hope right about now.

The credits started rolling and Melissa swam back out of her sleepy haze. She yawned and stretched her toned arms straight up. "Damn, Eastwood never gets old."

"Is that why you fell asleep?" Dean smiled, then briefly disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a beer for each of them.

"Not completely asleep," she said.

Melissa couldn't tell what time it was, but it was pitch black outside. The night was cloudy, and a soft patter of cold rain fell noisily on Bobby's steel roof. She leaned back against the arm of the couch to face him, and he took the same posed. Their crossed legs left their knees leaning comfortably against each other.

"Little bit quieter without Sam and Bobby here," she remarked, her beer hissing as she unscrewed the cap. A couple days earlier, one of Bobby's old hunter friends had called in need of assistance. Dean was still being cautious with his public appearances after the bank robbery, so he was down for the count. Melissa had been eager to join, ready to pull on her dancing shoes again after a few days of silence following the fake angel case. But, Bobby insisted three hunters would be overkill for what his friend was fighting. She tried to fight Sam on his spot, but he begged her just to stay. He needed some time away from Dean's worried eye. Eventually, she agreed. It wasn't that she didn't want to stay back with Dean, but she didn't want to go Jack Nicholson from _The Shining_ because of cabin fever.

After the first half day of research, trying fruitlessly to find Yellow Eyes, they'd called it a day and just decided to take a rare vacation. It had been two days of books and movies. Her favorite so far was their viewing of _Dirty Dancing_. Dean was much more into it than she thought he would be, even though he claimed it was just because of Patrick Swayze. But, Melissa could've sworn she saw him mouthing the words to _(I've Had) The Time Of My Life._ Spending some time with Dean outside of a hunt had been different. He was calmer; he was laughing more. And damn, could he cook. That was the last thing Melissa expected. And, of course, they had time to play some of Bobby's vinyls.

"Yeah, kinda nice though," Dean replied, snapping her back from her memories of their past two days alone.

Melissa smiled softly and went over to the record player in the corner of the dingy room. She was growing fonder of the faded wallpaper and the vague smell of pine and motor oil. It took her only a minute to select _Led Zeppelin III_ from Bobby's crates full of vinyls.

" _Now,_ it's the right amount of quiet," she said, taking her spot back on the couch. Dean smirked at the cozy crackling of the old record.

"Good choice," he said warmly, taking slow sips of his beer. He wasn't so thirsty for alcohol tonight.

"Alright, let's keep going. Is it my turn or yours?" she said. They had gotten into the habit of playing a _very_ long version of twenty questions during their rare down times.

"Yours."

"Okay, what's your favorite song?" she asked. Then, quickly added, "And you can't cop out behind the fact that you have too many, alright?"

He chuckled, and Melissa noticed the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She had to bite back a sigh as she thought about him. Sure, she was attracted to him, and sure, she felt _more_ than just attraction. But, she knew she couldn't lose herself. It would only make whenever one of them died harder. If you lose focus, something bad always happened. And after all, she was still a little worried about Dean's track record. And, she knew he could probably never love her back. She wasn't tall and blond, she didn't have big tits, and she couldn't walk in high heels worth a damn. She knew a shallow playboy wasn't all Dean was, hell he was worlds more than that, the nagging voice in the back of her head was constant. Still though, there were plenty of times when she had been close to just saying _fuck it_ and just giving in to what she knew was her love for him.

He contemplated her question for a minute. "Zep's _Ramble On_."

She scoffed. "Typical."

"Alright, Missy, what's _your_ favorite song?" he accused mockingly. "Some four hour, mindless Grateful Dead jam?"

"No!" she defended, laughing. "I mean I love their songs, but that forty minute version of _Dark Star_ is just too mu-"

"Okay, can we skip the geeking out and play the game?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you're gonna make fun of me."

"No I won't. Try me."

"Alright, it's _For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her_ ," she admitted, feeling oddly self conscious.

"Simon and Garfunkel? Really?" he said, surprised. "Why's it your favorite song?"

"Now _that_ is too long a story."

"Fine, be that way," he said in mock offense, turning to the window.

She sighed with a small smile. "Okay fine, I'll tell you a little bit of it. It was just the first song that I heard where...when I heard it just...everything else was gone," she said with a blush, looking past him to the doors of the kitchen. "I couldn't feel anything else but the music. I guess that's why I have so many tapes and everything now. I mean with our lives….music is the _one_ thing that always makes everything better. It takes me somewhere else."

Dean couldn't break his gaze from her. She hit the nail right on the head. It was almost like she was speaking for him. God, he couldn't get enough. Her voice, her laugh, her eyes. He felt lightheaded and dizzy and flushed, and she was all he could see. Just like always. He couldn't help it anymore. He leaned forward slowly, watching as she raised her eyes to him. He was about to ask her if she was alright with this, if she even felt anything back for him, when he saw her eyes light up in realization and she beat him to the kiss.

It didn't surprise him that she was a good kisser, passionate but slow. It was Dean who surprised Melissa. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't urgent. He was gentle, barely pressing her lips to hers at first, as though she were made of glass. He brought a hand to her cheek softly and rested it there, and she leaned into its warmth. It brought her back to the day she felt him as a ghost, the day she thought he was going to die. She remembered the relief she felt when he came back to them. The memory made her smile into the kiss and she shivered under his touch.

He pulled away, and looked back at her, not breathless so much from the kiss but his fluttering stomach. "Are you cold?" he asked, his hand still on her face.

"Dean, if you choose this as a time to offer me your jacket, so help me God-"

He laughed huskily. "Okay, I won't. But are you...is this okay?"

"Hell yeah, it is," she said quietly, her real accent peeking through her words. Dean grinned. It was a kind of smile Melissa didn't think she had seen from him before. It was so real and blissful.

"Is this okay for _you_?" she asked back and he only nodded.

Things got more heated, Dean's hands tangled in Melissa's dark hair. Their movements almost matched the low music, and Melissa couldn't stop smiling into their kisses. She couldn't remember anything else before this. Dean pulled away to take off his flannel, and Melissa did the same with her thermal Henley. It _was_ a cold night, but suddenly Melissa felt very flushed.

Dean tried a couple times to pull off his black t-shirt and failed. His hands, shaking a little from excitement, couldn't maintain their grip. Melissa laughed giddily.

"Son of bitch," he grumbled in embarrassment, his face heating up and the shirt around his neck and covering his head. He felt Melissa help him pull it off gently, and he opened his eyes to see in only her black bra and panties. He wondered where she had learned to undress so fast, and smirked at the thought. His face fell a little when he saw her still giggling.

"Sorry, I'm not as big, tough, hunter man as I should be right now?" he said sheepishly, worried he had ruined the moment.

"No," she said, her smiling still not fading at all. "You're Dean right now. I like him best."

He blushed harder, then got to work undoing his belt. The song changed and Melissa's turned back to glance at the record player. "Best song on the album."

" _Since I've Been Lovin' You_? Yeah it's pretty g-" he looked up to find her still turned back, looking at all the records Bobby had gathered over the years.

"You have a tattoo, Missy?" he asked, his eyes wide. In the center of her back, in between her shoulders, there was a large red flower.

"Yeah," she said turning back to him. "It's um...a scarlet begonia."

He laughed heartily and finally pulled off his jeans. "Of course. Hippie."

He kissed her again, a little more fervently this time, and slowly laid her on her back. She ran his hands over his bare skin and his were still in her hair. He came up for air again, looking down at her. He know understood what his father meant by 'the perfect woman.'

"Can I tell you something?" he panted.

"Shoot," she said, a little distractedly.

"I remember everything about that night I was really drunk...and I um….thanks for putting me to bed," he said, dancing around the real topic. Melissa beamed.

"You're welcome."

 **Author's Note:** Aaaahhh! I have been waiting FOREVER to write this one. Also, I know this has been a slow build so far, but big things are coming. Now that Melean are over the skinny love phase, it will be faster. Also, more Sam soon, along with Bobby! And then of course, Castiel will come and Crowley will come, but all in good time, my darlings. Also, we'll start going more into the main plot line, as the whole apocalypse thing becomes more clear. (Yay drama!) Please stay tuned!

Also, another _special shoutout_ to _**Kathleen Winchester**_ for your lovely reviews again! They brighten my day and mean so much!

Anyway...thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review to let me know what you thought! Have a nice day!

Peace and love.


	20. Chapter Ten: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Landslide"** by Fleetwood Mac

 **Chapter Ten** **:** Part One

The sky was clear again, and the morning light was orangey. It took Melissa a moment to remember where she was. Dean's breathing was rhythmic and warm against her neck. They were wrapped in a quilt, both still naked from the night before. She closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't know how she had let this happen. She hadn't been drunk, and she wasn't reeling from the aftermath of a hunt or anything. But she knew she wasn't in her right mind. She couldn't be.

She almost wanted to fall back asleep, wake up in the morning, and just see where this would take her. But she wasn't ready. She couldn't try to love someone. She couldn't do it. Something bad would happen. She could feel it.

Slowly, very slowly, she left Dean's loose grip. She pulled on her clothes silently, and watched the sunrise through the window as she laced up her boots. Every fiber of her being begged her to stay, but she knew she had to go. She couldn't be near Dean. He would catch her curse and get hurt.

So, as she grabbed her leather jacket, looked back at Dean one last time. His hair was messy from sleep, arms crossed over his bare chest, the amulet still hung around his neck. She smiled a sad smile, eyes were welling up. She hesitated before walking back over to the couch and placing a soft kiss on Dean's forehead.

It had been one of the best nights of her life. He was slow and gentle, and she kept having to assure him that it was alright and she was having a good time. His sheepishness was adorable and slightly shocking, but eventually he got more comfortable and things got rougher. The best part may have been falling asleep, his hands still running through her hair. They didn't speak much. They didn't need to.

"Please…" she whispered to him into the now lonely air, backing away and almost hitting the worn coffee table. "Be a stranger."

Maybe it was for the best. Just one special night together and then going their separate ways. No strings, no bad memories. She figured this meant she was saying goodbye to Sam and Bobby as well, but she didn't focus on it. Her heart was pounding and she knew she had to leave before she changed her mind.

She grabbed her old tapes from the side of the Impala, having made excellent use of a wire coat hanger to break in. Breathing in the smell of the leather, again she almost went back inside. To fall back asleep with Dean's arms wrapped around her, feeling completely safe. She shook her head and cleared her mind of most thoughts. _Focus on the monsters_ , she told herself. She trekked across the salvage yard as the wind bit at her rosy cheeks. She hotwired her truck, and smiled fondly at the nostalgic, coughing sound of the ancient engine. She popped in a tape, but didn't sing along, as she drove off into the misty morning air.


	21. Chapter Ten: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Another Day"** by Wings

\- " **Kozmic Blues"** by Janis Joplin

\- " **Ride On"** by AC/DC

 **Chapter Ten :** Part Two

The year passed slowly, hunt after hunt, motel after motel. Somehow, along the way, she went back into machine mode. Although, this time, she didn't work with other hunters if she came across them. Only left town to find her own case. It was easier that way. She didn't think much these days, just the primal need for strategizing during hunts. She still had nightmares, but somehow they were more vivid now. She was getting four hours of shuteye every couple days generally, but she was learning to adapt.

After leaving her short stint with the Winchesters, she expected to feel sadder. But she just felt hollow in a way. Lost. It wasn't to say there weren't jobs out there for her, in fact she noticed a spike in demon possessions the past few months. But now it was different. She didn't feel the same kind of satisfaction after saving someone. Her intentions felt different; it was more just out of anger and bitterness. It was making her a better hunter, she knew, so she turned off any reservations that might have crept into her mind about it.

Melissa was halfway out of a Chicago following a particularly gruesome vamp hunt when she stopped at some roadside diner. It was nearly four in the afternoon and the place was deserted. She was feeling a little adventurous, and took a chance on the place's cherry pie. It was not bad, considering she had at first been a little concerned that some of the elderly waitress' cigarette ash might have fallen into her slice.

She checked her other _, other_ cell phone, not expecting much. But she found yet another voicemail from Bobby singer. It had been over a year, but he still occasionally called, offering her a case. She never called back. He was too close to the boys, and she had honestly no idea what would happen if she ever saw them again. It was too much of a risk to see them, as if her life was risk free somehow now. Sam had called a couple times at first, saying that she could come back and it would be alright. But Melissa knew the truth. She could never come back, and Dean never called.

There had been several men since their night together. Mostly just young men with leather jackets and tattoos from the bars. None of them ever wore flannel, though. She knew it wasn't helping, but everyone deserved a little fun sometimes. Even if they were borderline murderers. At least that's what she told herself.

"You okay?" the raspy voice of the the overly made up, rotund waitress broke her from her thoughts. She had just been staring at her phone, going over blurry nights with men whose names and faces were now mostly forgotten. She cleared her throat awkwardly and faked a smile at the sweet but oddly intimidating old woman.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, just...thinking," she said slowly.

The woman just nodded and offered her more black coffee. Melissa shook her head and paid the check before making the short trek to her car through the frigid January afternoon, the winter sun just setting. She sighed and relaxed once she made it to truck, revving up the engine and sitting for a minute as the heat comforted her. She caught a glance of herself in the rearview mirror and sighed.

Even she was disgusted by how run down she looked, ad she could only imagine what other people must think. She finally gathered her courage and began listening to the message, expecting something like a siren in Jericho or a vetala in Seattle. Instead, it was something a little different.

" _Alright, listen up,"_ Bobby barked through the phone, his voice ragged around the edges. She followed his instructions, subconsciously straightening her posture as if she was getting scolded by him in person. Bobby did have a way of getting people's attention quickly.

" _Melissa, you're a damn adult so I don't know why you've been acting like a kid for the past year, but I need you to stop the pity party for your pisspoor problems. I don't give a damn where you are, but you need to get your ass to my house. We need you, and I don't need anyone dying because you've wasted over a year of your life feelin' sorry for yourself. If I don't see you by the end of this week, so help me God, I will hunt you down and drag you up to Sioux Falls myself. You may be good, but I got about a lifetime of hunting experience on you, and I'm not fuckin' around."_

The message ended abruptly, leaving Melissa speechless in the wake of the gruff hunter's rant. She didn't know how to feel. Sad? Pissed? She thought it over for only a second before peeling out of the parking lot, making her way out of the crowded city. She didn't think about things so much lately, and this choice was no exception. It was a gut instinct to go back to Sioux Falls, especially when Bobby sounded like that. It was almost like the morning he called her when Dean was in the coma. It was angry for sure, but in some ways it also seemed more desperate and tired. He just sounded so _weary_ and she hadn't a clue why. She didn't often visit hunter bars anymore, and she didn't listen to the whispers.

But she owed Bobby her life. More than once. If he needed help the way she now knew he did, regardless of the Winchesters, she would come help him. It was just that simple.

. . .

"Melissa? You called Melissa?!" Dean yelled at Bobby gruffly.

"Dammit, Dean, you got four months left! It's all hands on deck right now," Bobby shouted back from his place leaning against his cluttered desk. Dean was across the living room, near the door frame for the kitchen. Sam sat awkwardly in between them on the lumpy old couch. He sat stiffly, his eyes jerking back and forth as Dean and Bobby fired shots at each other.

"Not _all_ hands."

Bobby sighed heavily, scratching at his reddish beard. "Dean, I get it, alright? She hurt your feelings; hell, maybe she even broke your heart, I don't know."

Dean scoffed dismissively at this, but Bobby paid this no mind as he continued.

"But Melissa is family, and we all know it."

Dean only rolled his tired eyes, then sulked into the kitchen to grab a beer. Bobby blew out a defeated breath and bowed his head.

"Ummm," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What time do ya think she'll get here?"

"Well…" Bobby looked up at Sam and shuffled behind his desk. "The voicemail said she left Chicago last night...so any minute now. Still doesn't know exactly why I called."

"And she's just gonna come anyway?"

Bobby shrugged, cracking open some random lore book. "That's Melissa for ya."

Dean heard this in the kitchen and snorted bitterly, but no one heard him.

"Alright," Sam said, heaving a big breath, a rubbing at his temples. His shoulders and his chest were heavy with worry these days. Dean was gonna go to hell because of him. "Well, a fresh set of eyes never hurt."

. . .

She just drove straight through. The whole twenty hours, stopping at only two or three gas stations along the way. Still, she didn't think. Only drove. She was only comforted by the loud purr of the engine, and the raw voices of Mick Jagger and Janis Joplin screaming through the speakers. They felt like the right artists for the moment. She didn't know exactly why. A sickly pit settled in her stomach as she drove up to Singer Auto, remembering the brisk winter morning that she ran out on Dean. Remembering the regret the next day, but knowing she could never go back. It felt so surreal to be breaking her promise to herself, but the gut instinct that she had to come help Bobby was too strong. She couldn't have stayed away.

Before, she'd never really had to knock. It was almost like all four of them lived there. This time she hesitated a little, then knocked confidently on the worn wooden door, the rusty screen of the other door resting against her back. _Fake it till you make it,_ she thought to herself uneasily. She heard heavy footfalls and heated voices behind the door.

"Just wait a sec-" she heard Sam plead, but he was cut off as Dean opened the door.

Immediately she could see the age in his eyes. He looked so tired. His arms were crossed defensively across his broad chest, glowering at her. His jaw was set tightly as he stared her down, and it seemed as though he wasn't going to speak first. Both Sam and Bobby were shadows in the hallway behind Dean, frozen as they watched the tense scene unfold.

"Hi," Melissa greeted lamely. She didn't know what else to say. She honestly wasn't expecting this level of aggression if she ever saw him again. She also didn't expect Dean to be the one opening the door.

"Hi Melissa," he returned coldly, adding a curt nod. She shifted uncomfortably and waited a moment, just in case he had anything else to say to her, before she spoke again.

"Can I...c-come in?" she asked tentatively, knowing she had given herself away with her stutter.

Dean smirked a little at the familiar quirk, but did his best to keep his lukewarm demeanor. "It ain't my house. Better ask Bobby."

He turned back to find Sam and Bobby with slightly bewildered looks.

"Oh, um...yeah Mel...you can come in," Bobby said, trying to regain his composure.

"Thanks," she replied, sliding past Dean, who was still reluctant to move from his place guarding the door.

"Hey Melissa," Sam greeted warmly. It made Melissa sigh unconsciously in relief. They didn't all hate her. "Long time."

"Yeah…" she said. "Sorry about that." She cringed a little. She knew that they all knew what had happened between her and Dean. It made her cheeks burn in shame, and it was almost worse that the year old events were going unspoken by Dean.

They migrated to the kitchen, and Melissa felt slightly claustrophobic as all their eyes were on her. She stayed standing as the rest of them got comfortable at the kitchen table, nursing beers. She glanced around the room. It was exactly the same as she remembered it. She tried to avoid looking to the couch in the living room. A shiver rolled through her as she remembered that morning one winter ago. She lingered in the doorway, leaning up against the frame, afraid to get too near any of them.

There was a charged silence before Melissa took the initiative.

"So…" she started, crossing her leather-clad arms defiantly. _Fake it till you make it,_ she repeated in her head. "What's the trouble in paradise this time?"

Dean clenched his jaw and let his eyes roam over her. She looked terrible. Her face was gaunt and haggard, even paler than he remembered. He couldn't imagine how much weight she had lost. She looked like a skeleton. Her hair was a little shorter, coming just past her shoulders. Noticing this, he remembered the way he had run his hands through her hair that night. The way she had seemed to know everything that made him tick without needing to ask, and how he felt watching her fall asleep in his arms.

But now, he knew how foolish the hope he had felt was. He woke up alone that morning, shivering a little under the old quilt. At first, he thought they'd been tracked down somehow, and she'd been taken by a demon or some other monster. But then, he searched the outside, nearing screaming himself hoarse as he called to her. Her truck was gone. And that was all he needed to know what had happened.

He would have cried, but he was Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester didn't love anyone, so he couldn't be heartbroken. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table and drank a full fifth of whiskey. And as Bobby and Sammy returned that night, he drunkenly explained the situation. He buried whatever sadness he may have felt, and let his anger bubble to the surface. As he relayed the weekend events to them, his intoxicated rage only grew, and it ended with him smashing his tumbler in the sink. The morning after, he woke up with some tall blonde from some bar he didn't remember meeting.

Sam had seen the change in Dean immediately. The whiskey and the women were back, but now he just seemed angrier. Sam didn't remember the last time he had seen Dean so wrecked, and he wondered if this was the Dean from after he'd gone to Stanford. The Dean who thought he was completely alone. But maybe it was even worse. Besides Cassie, Sam had never seen Dean act so in love with a woman, and with Melissa, Sam knew it was even more. And Dean had gotten a particularly bitter taste of his own medicine. Melissa had loved him and left him. Seeing Lisa a few months back had definitely helped Dean, but he was still pining for Melissa. Sometimes he even said her name in his sleep, on the rare nights when he was out for long enough to start dreaming.

It was Bobby who answered Melissa, relaying all the information from the past fourteen months. He was winded by the end, and Melissa was overwhelmed. It was quite a lot to swallow. Sam got stabbed, they shot Yellow Eyes, they opened the door to hell (which explained the uptick in possessions over the past few months,) and they set John free from hell. She stood with her hand over her mouth and his eyes wide. She took a heavy breath.

"Well...it's a good thing that dickhead yellow eyes is gone...and John's free….how are you, Sam?" she asked, glancing at the taller Winchester brother. "Y'know...with the stabbing and everything."

"Oh um...I'm good. I'm fine," he said with a little quirk of his mouth and a nod. He gave Dean a nervous look but didn't say anything more.

"Yeah...so that's about it…" Bobby said, finishing his beer.

"Okay well," she said, pacing around a little. "Where does calling me come in?"

"Oh…" Bobby said, looking down and clearing his throat. "I think you and Dean should have a moment alone."

"What? No," Dean perked up from his drink, annoyed.

Sam and Bobby were already getting up and walking out the back door.

"Guys, why-" Melissa started.

"Just...talk," Sam told her, cutting her off as she took his final steps out the door. He slammed it shut behind him and Melissa felt a little flabbergasted. The visit had already been odd and awkward enough, but the abrupt departure of Sam and Bobby only made it weirder.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" she demanded as Dean walked over to her.

"I don't know, Melissa. What the hell _is_ going on? Why'd you come here?" he asked, nearly yelling already. He brushed past her into the living room and leaned against Bobby's desk. He waited for Melissa to follow and give him an answer.

"Because Bobby called me. Why the fuck else?" she asked, her voice calm but the anger building inside her. She knew she was still in the wrong, but she couldn't help her kneejerk response of aggression. She was a hunter, after all.

"I don't know, we've called you asking for help a hell of a lot more than just this time," he shot back.

" _You_ ," she spat, pointing a thin finger at him. "Never called."

"Neither did you!"

Melissa felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. She never should have come. She turned around, running her hair harshly through her dark hair. She stood facing the stairwell, fighting the tears she felt welling up in her eyes.

"Why didn't you stay?" Dean asked in a smaller voice. She turned back to him, her hands starting to shake. He was slouched slightly, watching her with thoughtful eyes. She almost smiled seeing him standing there in his t-shirt and jeans, his protection amulet hanging from his neck. _Always with the simple pleasures,_ she thought. In that moment, she truly almost didn't remember why she left him.

"I don't know I just…" she sighed, then met his eyes confidently. "Why am I here Dean? What's going on?"

He deflated a little and looked away from her, starting to pace as well. "Y'know how Sammy got stabbed?"

"Yeah…"

"It was bad, Mel...it was real bad. He...his spinal chord...he died, okay?" Dean admitted, his voice strained. He could still hardly think about that night without completely breaking down. The way it felt on that rainy evening as Sammy died in his arms. His Sammy.

Melissa's eyes were wide and her mouth hung agape.

"And I couldn't do it…"

She shook her head slowly, her expression remaining stunned. "What did you do, Dean?"

He only shook his head sadly in response. Then, he looked back at her and set his face in a stony expression, still trying to seem strong. "I would do it again."

She clenched her jaw, almost stalking towards him. Dean looked at her in surprise, being reminded of the animalistic walk she had when she was possessed. She got near his face, and he almost recoiled at her fiery eyes.

"How long do you have left?" she nearly growled. It looked as though they were having an old Western showdown. Tumbleweeds could practically be seen rolling through as they stood across from each other in the middle of the dusty room.

"Four months," he responded, a rasp in his quiet voice.

"Four?!" she yelled. It was the shortest demon deal she'd ever heard of.

"You sold your soul?!" she shouted at him, then shoved him hard in the chest. "What the fuck were you thinking, asshat?!"

She shoved him again and he stumbled into the desk behind him. He didn't respond, only watched her as she blew off her steam. His eyes were glassy but Melissa barely noticed. She was still reeling. She stepped back from him, the padding of her old boots cutting through the tense silence.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, then turned around without another word. She practically sprinted out the creaky old door, slamming it hard behind her. Dean halfheartedly went after her, but if there was one thing the past year had taught him, if Melissa didn't want to be found, she wouldn't. She drove peeled out of the salvage yard, dust forming in clouds in the wake of her tires. He couldn't make her stay. No matter how much he needed her to.

. . .

The truck could reach 110, but at 80 the engine was practically screaming. The wind howled through Melissa's open windows, and she would have shivered violently in the frigid night air, but the whiskey was making her feel very flushed. Motörhead raged through the speakers and Melissa couldn't remember the last time she felt so angry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this much of anything at all. She pulled clumsily into Singer Auto and sighed. She had to stay, she knew. She just needed a little alcohol to prepare herself first. The one thing she loved about South Dakota, hardly any of the bars would cut you off.

She almost didn't notice her breath blowing out in clouds before her as she tried to find her way to the house. She didn't know when the hundreds of cars in the yard had started to look like a maze, and she didn't know why she had parked so far away. Her head swam with drunken exhaustion, but she didn't really feel tired at all. Just angry. Dean was gonna die. Not just die. He was gonna go to hell. It almost made Melissa want to go and make her own deal. She had pretty much killed her sister, after all. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she was already destined for downstairs.

Eventually, somehow, she found her way to the old house. She dropped her keys on her way to the porch and tripped trying to pick them up. She fell hard on her ass, then started laughing maniacally. Her head was spinning.

"Melissa?" she heard from somewhere in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat and the laughter stopped. Immediately, she tried to go for her gun. Her sloppy attempts were fruitless.

"Hey, it's just me," she looked up and saw Dean sitting on the rickety wooden step of the porch, outlined only softly in the dim moonlight. It was probably past one in the morning.

"Oh," she said flatly, then slowly got to her feet. She almost tripped again, and Dean wanted to help her, but he was reluctant to get close. She eventually got to the porch and sat down hard beside him, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You're drunk," he stated, and couldn't help the small smirk that spread across his lips. Sure, he'd seen her a little tipsy, but never sloshed like this.

"And you're an asshat," she slurred back.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," he sighed, taking a swig of his beer. Melissa tried to grab it from his hands, but the attempt was weak in her drunken state. "Easy, killer. No more booze tonight, alright?"

"Did you drive here?" he asked tentatively.

"Yessir…" she slurred, _very_ Southern.

Dean sighed. "You can't drive like this. Next time I'll be your DD. I guess I owe you...actually I think I owe you twice right?"

She snorted and laughed a little. "You don't owe me anything," she mumbled, then yawned and rested her head in her hands. "What are you doing out here?"

"I dunno," he shook his head a little. "Just thinkin.'"

She took a few deep breaths of the freezing air and her teeth chattered a little.

"Dammit, Missy," Dean said, not so mad at her anymore. He took off his own leather jacket and draped it around her. She was only in a t-shirt and jeans. "Did you lose your jacket?"

"I don't know," she said, looking up at the stars. "Maybe I drank that too."

Dean chuckled as she hiccuped. "You gonna throw up?"

"No…" she said, not very sure herself. "I'll be alright...you should have your jacket back." She tried to take it off but he only put an arm around her to warm her up. He doubted she felt it judging by her flushed cheeks, but her lips were tinged blue.

"Stop...just...take it for now," he told her. She laughed sloppily.

"Man...I told myself I would never take your jacket," she said.

"When'd you tell yourself that?"

"The night you told me you loved me," she replied casually. Dean's face fell. "But it's okay," Melissa continued. "I love you too."

"No, you're drunk," he corrected, not believing.

"No...but…." she put her head in her hands again and heaved a breath. "I didn't want to...I'm really sorry, Dean. I wanted to stay...but Allen died and I couldn't…"

She stopped, choking up a little. Being drunk always put her on a little bit of an emotional rollercoaster. "It was so hard...after he left...and I thought I couldn't do it again. And now you might go to hell...and Dean I just…"

He looked away from her, his cheeks reddening slightly in shame. He knew he should have given her more credit. In a way, he'd been as selfish as her about the whole thing. He had refused to see her side.

Tears started rolling slowly down Melissa's rosy cheeks and Dean rubbed up and down her arm. "Hey, no...it's okay, darlin.' Just calm down. You're gonna be fine."

"But I want _you_ to be fine," she sniffed, her voice strained. It broke Dean's heart seeing her that way. They sat in silence for a little while, and her breathing slowed after a few minutes.

"I miss my sister," she blurted out, lifting her head to study the faint shine of chrome on the tires of the car in front of them. "I see you and Sam sometimes...and I just miss Rosie. I should have saved her."

Dean ignored the last part, wanting to keep her from crying again. "Her name was Rosie?"

"I never told you?"

He shook his head.

"Oh," she said, then turned back to him. She dimly thought of how much she missed his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck impulsively, surprising him. Eventually, he returned it. He forgot how much he missed this; the nights when they just got to talk. He could feel her heart beating fast in her chest and wrapped his arms around her tighter, half making up for the year they'd lost, and half to calm her shaking body.

"I'm sorry I left…" she whispered huskily.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," she sighed shakily, her forehead resting on his shoulder. Their arms were now just wrapped loosely around each other. Melissa started to feel sleepy. "I was just...scared."

She was drunk beyond the point of feeling embarrassed or vulnerable, making confessions the sober version of herself would have never uttered out loud.

"I know, honey," he said, rubbing small circles on her back. He bit his lip, feeling immensely guilty for all the crap he had given her earlier, and that he never called. "I know."

She pulled back a little bit from him, in a last attempt not to pass out. "I am so drunk," she said, bursting out in jolly laughter. Dean couldn't help but join her, even after the somber conversation. "I'm _Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds_."

She smiled goofily and then laid her head down on his shoulder again. He continued to rub her back and laughed a little. "Sure you are, Missy."

Melissa focused on her breathing, relaxing more than she had in a year. She forgot the way Dean smelled like old leather and gunpowder. _In and out_ , she repeated in her head.

It only took another moment of silence for Dean to realize she was asleep, lying on him limply. He smiled softly, remembering their ride in the the Impala as she fell asleep to Pink Floyd. He kissed her dark hair and hugged her a little tighter before hoisting her into his arms and bringing her into the house. He let her take the couch that night.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, chapter ten is done! Yay!

PLEASE review and let me know what you thought! Feedback is pretty much my favorite thing.

Again, thank you to _**Kathleen Winchester**_ for your reviews! They are always greatly appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

Peace and love.


	22. Chapter Eleven: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Box Of Rain"** by Grateful Dead

 **Chapter Eleven** **:** Part One

"Fuck," Melissa muttered to herself, flushing the toilet for what felt like the billionth time. She rinsed her mouth out with lukewarm tap water from the dingy sink.

She shakily got back to the living room and she slumped on the couch, shivering a little despite her flushed cheeks. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She could feel her brain pounding against her skull. But, she could hear the quiet conversation of Dean, Sam, and Bobby in the kitchen. And it felt like home, and she almost smiled.

Dean came into the room quickly and cleared his throat as he set a ginger ale on the end table beside Melissa, then sat down next to her. He tried to press a cold rag to her forehead, noticing the sheen of sweat and flushed cheeks she'd developed from puking all morning. She slapped his hand away and glared at him from lidded eyes.

"Not right now, alright mom?" she said.

Dean sighed. "At least drink the ginger ale. You'll feel better."

She continued her murderous look for only a moment, then she cracked a small smirk. "Okay. But only 'cause you asked so nicely."

Dean smiled as she popped open the cap and he heard it fizz.

"I don't think this is a hangover cure," she said, grimacing as she took the first sip.

"Ah, it's the best we've got, Missy," he said, then leaned back in a similar position.

She smiled. _He's calling me Missy again._ She didn't remember everything from the night before, but the hazy flashes she could recall made her feel much better. Dean and her were back to normal. Well, as normal as hunters could be.

Melissa was starting to smell the bacon and eggs Bobby was cooking in the kitchen, and had to fight not to gag.

"Hey I think I'm gonna make a supply run," Sam announced, his boots clicking loudly on the creaky wood floor as he entered.

"Shhh," Melissa hissed suddenly, gripping her forehead and squeezing her eyes shut. "Just...not so authoritarian please…"

"Sorry," Sam said, glancing at her with an apologetic look. "You guys need anything?"

Dean shook his head to Sam as Melissa slowly sat forward beside him. She blew out a slow breath, resting her elbows on her knees. Dean rubbed her back gently and Sam smiled a little. Whatever had happened last night, he was glad things were back to normal. Maybe Dean would stop going through women as quick as he drank a six-pack. Maybe both habits would stop.

"Can I go with? I need some stuff...like a lobotomy maybe," Melissa said tiredly, squinting a little at the light and holding her forehead still as she looked to Sam. He could see the greenish tint to her skin, oddly contrasting the flushed patches on her cheeks. Melissa didn't really need anything, she just wanted to get away from the greasy smells that now filled most of the house. Dean snickered a little beside her.

"I mean...I guess," Sam shrugged.

"If you puke in my car, I swear to God…" Dean warned, but his tone was half-hearted and he still smoothed small circles over her back.

. . .

Melissa's headache was lessening with Jerry Garcia crooning softly through the speakers. She'd swiped a tape from her truck on the way out; the Grateful Dead had always been a great hangover remedy for her. They were halfway to the store, but they still had a ways as it seemed to Melissa there were only one or two grocery stores in all of South Dakota. She took her head off the cool glass of the window and straightened up a little. The ride had mostly been filled with comfortable silence. Sam hadn't even complained about the music, but Melissa guessed it was a learned trait from enduring Dean's mullet rock.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she blurted out.

He jumped a little as her voice broke through the silence. "Beg your pardon?"

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly, looking down at her hand. "I didn't mean to just completely leave y'all high and dry...but I just...had to get away for awhile," she told him, her cheeks heating up in shame.

Sam cleared his throat. "It's okay, Melissa. I get it. And you're back now."

She smiled a little. "That I am."

Sam gave a lopsided smile back as he watched the road. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so glad. Those feelings were few and far between now that Dean was destined for down under.

"Do you…" Melissa continued. "Do you ever miss Jess?"

Sam's face fell and he nodded. Nobody had asked him about Jess in years. "All the time," he replied solemnly.

"Yeah…" Melissa said with a sad smile. "I'm sorry."

"I dream about her...sometimes," he admitted. "Do you dream about Allen?"

She nodded. "Not always good dreams."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Me too."

And suddenly, Sam almost felt like crying. It all weighed on him so heavily. All at once. He remembered casually starting to shop for engagement rings, just a few weeks before she died. And he remembered seeing her there on the ceiling. Worst of all, he remembered the smell of her flesh burning. Dean had asked about it before, how it felt to lose her. But he'd never been completely honest. He didn't even know how to articulate it. But with Melissa, he didn't need to say a thing. There was something unspoken between them that Sam didn't have with Dean. She knew what it was like to lose someone you thought you would be with the rest of your life. Sure, Dean knew loss. But he didn't know that loss.

"You know, if you ever need to talk about that...I mean I know it's been years but...I'll be here," he told her. "I get it."

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. She forgot how much she'd missed Sam. With Sam it was different. Sam knew what normal life was like, and what it was like to leave normal life. Sam had been there with her through things Dean hadn't, like after the car crash. Sam was like a brother. And Melissa hadn't had one of those in a long time. "You too."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, they're back together! Yay! I wrote the rest of this chapter, but I hated it so I'm starting over but I'll try to have it up tomorrow! Thanks for being patient with me! And thanks for reading!

Thank you to _**x3sunnydaay**_ , _**KathleenWinchester**_ , and _**ImsebastianstanButter** _ for your wonderful reviews!

PLEASE review to let me know what you think of the story!

Peace and love.


	23. Chapter Eleven: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Superstar"** by Sonic Youth (originally by The Carpenters)

\- _"_ **Manic Depression"** by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

 **Chapter Eleven** **:** Part Two

 _It was a hazy dream again. She was at Bobby's, in the attic. She'd never been in Bobby's attic, but she instantly knew that's where it was. It was dusty, full of boxes with old, yellowed papers peeking out. Lore, most likely. She couldn't tell if it was night or day, and she felt slightly drunk. She looked down and became aware of a small flashlight in her hand; the smooth silver metal was oddly comforting. Almost like a gun._

 _Her head was swimming and she heard a soft thump from beside, near a large old chest. The sides were cracking and it was very worn, but she saw a hand gripping the side. A hand that looked so alive against the ancient wood. Slowly, she saw a man stand up and her vision went a little blurry for a second before she could recognize him as Dean. She furrowed her brows. She'd never had a dream with Dean in it before._

 _He didn't say anything, only stalked over to her, the floor squeaking under his boots as he went. It almost felt like it was happening in slow motion. He took one of his large, callused hands and gripped her wrist. Tight. She looked down at it in confusion and opened her mouth to say something. Instead, Dean took his other hand and grabbed her jaw, harshly forcing her to look at him. She gasped when his eyes flashed black._

 _His voice was an inhuman growl. "Long time, no see, Melissa."_

. . .

Along with the heat of summer, Melissa missed the crickets. Silence filled the air as she sat yawning at the kitchen table. It was a little past three, and she knew she was never going to get back to sleep. She'd lain awake for a couple hours after waking up from the dream in a cold sweat. Her hands were still shaky as she fiddled quietly with her coffee mug on the table. Her head rested lazily in her right hand. Her hair hung in loose waves from a long taken out french braid and she was clad in a big old flannel and worn jeans. She was still shivering; Bobby's old house was drafty.

"Ain't it a little early for coffee?" she heard Dean say gruffly. She jumped and let out a sound of surprise. He chuckled warmly and she looked up to see him crossing the kitchen towards the coffee maker.

"Fuck, Dean, why are you always sneakin' up like that?" she asked with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"We're hunters," Dean shrugged, pouring himself a cup. "We sneak." Melissa chuckled hollowly in response.

Dean's chair squeaked only a little against the wood floor as he sat down across from her.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Melissa said quietly. She gulped down the last of her lukewarm black coffee.

"No, no, I usually don't sleep…" Dean said lamely. He felt oddly flustered. It was the first time they'd had a chance to talk when neither of them were exceedingly angry or wasted. Everything with her felt different for him now, but he couldn't quite gather in what way.

"Yeah," she laughed. "I know."

Melissa wasn't used to having uncomfortable silences with Dean. There was a little bit of a sick feeling in her stomach; she hated the way things felt. Melissa stared at her empty mug and Dean tried to avoid her looking at her. Now that she was sober, it was easier for him to feel angry again. He didn't have any pity left for her. He could still feel the way he felt that morning. He could see the empty side of the couch.

"I…" Melissa said, stopping to clear her throat. "I'm sorry, De-"

He put a hand up to stop her, still avoiding eye contact. Melissa frowned in disappointment. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Missy. I know you're sorry."

She was slightly taken aback by his curtness. "Well...I _am_ sorry."

Dean only nodded, taking a sip from his mug. Melissa looked down, a little embarrassed. Her first day back had mostly been filled with hell research, not much time for chatter. But she had thought, she had hoped, after last night, things would be better.

"Did I...did I ever tell you about when my boyfriend got killed?" she asked softly, looking up with apprehensive eyes. It was the only way she knew to explain why she felt. Well, explain a little more articulately than when she was sloshed.

"No," he replied, a little more gently.

"My sister….I used to-" she sighed heavily and started again. "I used to wear this locket...and it was my sister's before she died. It had a picture of my mother in it. Anyway, I was wearing it the whole time I was with Allen, and we were just about to settle down. And be happy and everything. Real life, y'know?"

She paused and faced him directly. He nodded for her to continue, his gaze unreadable.

"Yeah, so...Allen got killed one day…I was with him. If I'd know what I know now… Anyway, Mr. Winches-John rolled into town and we figured out...it was my sister. My sister killed Allen. And I burned the locket...I had to kill her again…"

Her eyes were dry but her face was drawn in grief. No one knew that story. Not even Bobby. Only John.

Dean cleared his throat. "Wow. Your life really is a few different soap operas rolled into one."

Melissa furrowed her brows in anger. She would have at least liked some eye contact. She didn't know what she was looking for, but that response seemed needlessly nonchalant. She started to wonder how long she would be paying for her mistake.

"Yeah," she scoffed, getting up a little harshly and putting her mug in the sink. "And selling your soul so that you won't have to live without your brother but your brother will have to live without you...that's not a soap opera. And it's not selfish at all."

Dean's face flushed in part-aggravation and part-shame, but he bit his tongue, watching her as she padded softly across the room.

Melissa stood at the sink, her back to him, for just one more moment. The air held with stagnant tension. She sighed, her eyes starting to well up. She had thought, foolishly she would admit, that if she came back, she might have the old Dean back too.

"I'm gonna go try to get some more sleep," she said, emotionless, and started to walk through the threshold back to her sleeping back. Sam was snoring rather loudly tonight from his spot on the couch.

"But you just had a cup of coffee," Dean said, almost pleading, surprising himself with his tone. He didn't feel done yet. He wanted to get the fight he felt coming over with.

"Yep," she said bluntly. She tried her best not to take another look at Dean, still sat in the low light of the kitchen, as she collapsed into her sleeping bag. She never got back to sleep.

 **Author's Note:** Hi there! Just a quick little update for you! For some reason, this was a little harder for me to write and I'm still working on the last part of the chapter. But, it should be up soon! Please stay tuned!

Thank you to _**KathleenWinchester**_ , _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**ellidraco1014**_ for your wonderful reviews!

 _ **KathleenWinchester**_ , I feel so honored and flattered that this is your favorite fanfiction right now! I'll try my best to keep it up the way it's been going!

 _ **ellidraco1014**_ , to answer your question, yes and no, as seen above. ;) You'll see a little more in the last part of this chapter.

PLEASE review to let me know what you thought of this installment, or what you think of the story in general! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Peace and love.


	24. Chapter Eleven: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Pale Blue Eyes"** by The Velvet Underground

 **Chapter Eleven** **:** Part Three

The next night, Melissa and Dean still hadn't spoken much. None of them had. It was another day of hell research, and there was nothing. And the clock was always ticking. Tension was palpable around the dinner table. At least, to Melissa it seemed like it was. She was sat in between Sam and Bobby, across from Dean as they ate the least of a box of pizza. Frankly, Melissa was surprised pizza delivery was even available in Sioux Falls. Bobby was telling a story about some wacky hunt with Rufus, but Sam was the only one really listening. Melissa and Dean were too busy avoiding each other's eyes.

Melissa's phone started to ring just as Bobby was getting to the punchline. She jumped and gasped a little at the sudden noise but then fumbled for her phone. She saw a vaguely familiar name and almost sighed in relief. She needed a break from the constant heaviness in the air.

"'Scuse me," she said quietly, standing up with a sigh and wiping her greasy hands on her jeans. She didn't venture a glance at any of them as she turned and slipped out the kitchen door onto the back stoop. She shivered immediately, but tried to ignore it as she answered the call.

It was one of the many hunters she'd come across during her ten years in the life. They told her of some demon activity in Ohio, and how they were too busy with an incubus in California to take care of it. It was enough for Melissa; she was feeling pretty suffocated with days of hell research and the cold shoulder she'd been getting from Dean. She agreed to take the hunt, assuring her old friend it would be over quickly. She said goodbye, then got back to the warmth of the kitchen. She almost cringed when she walked in and they all turned to her. Well, Dean only looked at her halfway.

She grabbed her plate quickly and placed it in the sink. She turned back to them with one hand on her hip.

"Um, I have to go," she said tentatively. Sam and Bobby didn't have a chance to say anything before Dean turned around completely to face her, looking her in the eyes for the first time all day.

"What?" he asked harshly.

Melissa cleared her throat and did her best to keep his gaze; she was suddenly feeling very shy. "I got a call...someone in Ohio needs my help with some demons. I should go."

"Do you want backup?" Sam asked.

"No I…" she finally looked away from Dean. "I think I need to go alone."

Dean clenched his jaw. "So you're just gonna leave again?" He stood up and his chair scratched across the wood floor. Bobby's eyes were wide and he thought about intervening, but knew it would do no good. He too had felt that there was something very wrong between the two of them.

"I'm not...this is different, Dean," she said, starting to feel a little less meek. Dean moved to lean defiantly against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Oh, right, you're just telling me before you leave this time," he said with venom, his eyes narrowed. It was enough for Melissa's fire to be lit.

"How long are you gonna hold this over me, Dean?" she shouted. "How many times do I have to apologize?"

"Oh right," he laughed bitterly, "Poor little Missy, just say sorry and everything will fix itself. Ain't gonna happen, sweetheart."

She scoffed sadly, shaking her head a little. "I can't do this…" she sighed.

"You're such a coward," Dean muttered. Melissa caught it and her eyes started to fill with angry tears. Sam and Bobby watched speechlessly, but it was like a car crash, they couldn't look away. And, of course, Melissa and Dean were blocking the doorway.

"Yeah, what about you, hypocrite?" she yelled, a few tears snaking down her flushed cheeks. "You're so scared to live without Sam that you have to sell your soul? And now all of us have to fucking save you, just one more time that you've sacrificed yourself!"

"That's what you do for family, Missy!" he countered, his own eyes getting misty thinking of his impending stay down under. "And what did you do? You ran out on us! You ran out on Sammy when he was still having visions! You weren't there for him when he died, so I had to step in! You ran out on your family!"

"I don't have a family, Dean!" she screamed, and immediately regretted it as she watched Dean's face fall. He didn't really look angry, only surprised. But she was committed now, so she continued.

"They died a long time ago," she finished through gritted teeth. She could almost feel her heart twist inside her chest as she uttered those words.

There was a charged silence before Dean spoke again. "Fine. Leave."

"No, M-" Bobby started. Melissa interrupted.

"Alright! Fine," Melissa growled, staring straight at Dean. She got close to him, her heart aching as she remembered how it felt to kiss him. "Have fun in hell. Someday I'll see you there."

She saw Dean's jaw tighten even more with those words before he uttered what he imagined would be his final words to her. " _Please_ ," he said with a bite in his gravelly voice, "be a stranger."

They stared at each other for just a moment more, before Melissa stalked into the living room and hastily grabbed her things. Dean let out a long, angry sigh before slumping back in his seat at the table with his head in his hands. Sam shook his head at his brother before going after Melissa. She was nearly out the door when he caught her by the arm. She turned and looked at him for a moment before getting on her tiptoes to wrap him in a strong hug. When she pulled away Sam saw she was still crying, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. She gripped his upper arms tightly and looked him dead in the eye.

"Please, do everything you can," she whispered. "Save him."

Sam quirked a weak smile and nodded. "I will."

"I'll come if you call this time….but I can't stay here…." she told him, then gave him one quick last hug before leaving again. She slammed the door loudly on her way out.

. . .

Lou Reed's soft vocals sounded odd blasting through Melissa's speakers. The song was never meant to be so loud. She was barely keeping it together, could barely see. It was a little past nine on a country road, and there were only a few other pairs of headlights passing her. Her vision was blurry with tears, and the sense of loss she felt was almost burning. It was like Dean had died already somehow. To her, he was gone. He didn't want her anymore. There was nothing she could do. The final mistake was made.

She took a heavy, shaking breath. She saw his green eyes and heard his voice. She felt his calloused fingers tracing over her bare hip in the late evening glow of the moon. Their one night together. And that was it. She finally broke down. She had to pull over as she lost her breath, the sobs wracking her frame. She rested her hands on her folded hands against the steering wheel and continued to cry. She knew she should never have gotten involved. Everyone she touched was cursed, and she knew that. And now Dean was going to hell because she wasn't there to talk him out of making the deal, or better yet, to save Sam in the first place. And she knew that wasn't something Dean would ever be able to forgive her for. She didn't blame him.

Eventually, she felt so winded that she might pass out, and knew she had to stop the sobs somehow. _In and out,_ she told herself, and after a while it was all she could think. She was whimpering a little by the time she calmed down to the level of just slow tears, and felt ashamed of it even though no one was there. She was completely alone, save for the music and whatever monster might be waiting for her next.

 **Author's Note:** And that's chapter eleven done! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!

Thanks to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ for your review! It was wonderful!

PLEASE review to let me know what you think of the story!

Peace and love.


	25. Chapter Twelve: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Get Back"** by The Beatles

\- " **We Can Work It Out"** by The Beatles

 **Chapter Twelve** **:** Part One

"That's it! I'm calling her," Sam exclaimed, still pacing. It had been a damn stressful day.

"No, Sam, dammit!" Dean sighed harshly, running a hand over his face from his spot in the hospital chair. Bobby laid nearly lifeless beside him, found only a few hours earlier at his motel, having fallen into an inexplicable coma. "We can do this ourselves."

"Dean, do you hear yourself? Bobby's in a coma, Mel _has_ to know! She said she would come when I called!"

Dean snorted skeptically. "Yeah, she's just reliable as hell, ain't she? Let's just go back to the motel, and see what Bobby was trying to dig up here."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from Dean. Through the window he could see the parking lot, many expensive cars bathing in the moonlight. Pittsburgh certainly had fancier hospitals than Sioux Falls. It was past visiting hours, but the Winchesters could get around anything.

"Y'know what, Dean?" Sam asked, without looking back at his brother. "I'm done with this. With the day drinking, the insomnia, and the bar waitresses you go out with almost _every night_. I thought you were in this now, but lately...I don't know what's wrong with you. It's like you don't wanna be saved…."

"What the hell does all this angsty crap have to do with Melissa?" Dean said, not moving from his seat but trying his best not to glance at Bobby.

"You're just...I don't get why you're pushing her away like this. I know you still love her-"

"Dude," Dean said with a humorless chuckle. He stood up slowly and ambled over to watch the parking lot with Sam. "I haven't loved her in a long time."

Sam looked over at Dean disapprovingly. "Look, you can deny it all you want. You say her name in your sleep...still. You love her. If you wanna tell me you don't-whatever. But you know what? I love her too, okay? She's like a sister to me. She's family, even if she doesn't feel like it. And we _have_ to tell her."

Dean sighed heavily and up for a minute at the water-stained popcorn ceiling. "Fine. But I'm not doing any of that touchy feely moment stuff with her, alright?"

Sam rolled his eyes but nodded. "Fair enough."

. . .

Melissa sliced the head swiftly off the last vamp she could see, drinking up the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. Her breath came in quick, short bursts and she smiled wickedly. A month without seeing the Winchesters, and again she was nothing but a machine. She ran a bloody hand through her hair, not caring so much about the mess. She shivered a little at the sheen of sweat covering her body, and looked around the dark West Virginia woods one last time before heading back to the car. She was still panting when her phone rang, and she groaned a little. Someone needed her help, and she had literally _just_ filled in a favor for another hunter.

She paused when she saw Sam's name flash up on the screen. Immediately, she flipped it open and answered with a demanding, "What's wrong?"

"Why, hello to you too, Mel," Sam said.

"What's wrong?" she repeated.

"It's Bobby."

. . .

The drive took about six hours, and it was a little past four when she ran up to the hospital desk. She was out of breath and her face had smudges of dirt, but she had managed to get most of the blood off with fast food napkins in the car. Her eyes were wild and her cheeks were flushed. She wasn't phased when she saw that this receptionist was much more professional than the one she'd met when Dean was dying.

"I'm looking for Bobby Singer," she said loudly, and the receptionist looked at her from over her glasses.

"Visiting hours begin at 9, miss," the receptionist said flatly and got back to her crossword puzzle.

Melissa, having not slept in about 30 hours and already on edge being in a hospital, snatched the crossword and looked the woman right in the eye.

"M'am, my father is in a coma, and if I don't see him now, I'll likely not get the chance to say goodbye. Now, do you really wanna do that to me?" she yelled, then threw the crossword back at the woman. The receptionist gulped, then nodded.

"Yes, miss, your brothers are already here," she said meekly, afraid that Melissa would do something along the lines of ask for the doctor in charge, who was, in fact, quite the dictator.

"Are they, now?" Melissa narrowed her eyes, hoping the woman would give her the room number instead of just stare like a deer in headlights as she was doing now.

"Hey...uh-sis…" she heard from beside her. Sam walked over, wrapping Melissa in a hug, as the receptionist heaved a sigh of relief. "I'd know it was you making a scene from a mile away," Sam said in her ear with a small chuckle, which she returned.

Sam took Melissa by the shoulder and led her up to Bobby's room, filling in the pieces he left out on the phone. Since speaking, they'd found out Bobby was researching a doctor doing experiments with African dream root. In the morning, it would be time for interviews. But for now, the investigation was stalled.

They got back to the room to find Dean slumped in his chair, staring at Bobby, whose breathing was slow and deliberate. The familiar beep of the heart monitor made Melissa feel sick just hearing it.

"Hey, Dean," Melissa said just as they came through the door, not feeling the need to have Sam break the ice for her.

He perked up when he saw her. "Hey."

"Can I...can I talk to you? Um...outside?" she said little awkwardly, glancing at Sam as he crossed the room to sit in the chair by the window.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sure...yeah, I guess."

She nodded and left the room, waiting in the wide, brightly lit hallway. She was starting to feel lightheaded from the smell of all the cleaning products. The fluorescent lights were buzzing loudly, and she could hear faint whispers from the few other rooms in the ICU. None of them sounded particularly happy. Fuck, did she hate hospitals.

Dean looked at Sam skeptically, but the younger Winchester only shrugged and shook his head a little. Dean decided to just go for it, and walked slowly into the hallway. She was standing with her arms crossed, and Dean noticed the streaks of dirt on her face, and the blood dried in her hair. He furrowed his brows at the dark circles under her eyes and her ghostly complexion. If possible, she looked even more unhealthy than the last time he saw her.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, somewhere in between still angry and now concerned. He went to brush the bloody strands of hair out of her face, but then decided against it, awkwardly retracting his hand from the halfway point and clearing his throat. Melissa flushed at the old gesture.

"I was, um...I just finished a vamp hunt in West Virginia," she explained, finding it hard to look him in the eyes.

"Oh," he said, wondering what else she'd been up to since he'd seen her last. It didn't look like anything good. "So, um...what did you wanna talk to me about?"

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, glancing back at the room where Sam now sat watching Bobby. "I just wanted to….to make sure we were good. I mean...time like this? There ain't any time for…"

She sighed again, looking down at her boots. "I mean...life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting my friend…"

Dean looked at her dejectedly.

She smirked a little and started to sing the next lines, suddenly not feeling so brooding. Maybe it was because Dean had three months left and Bobby might die. She was in a _fuck it_ sort of mood.

"We can work it out..." she sung, doing her best Paul McCartney impression. She poked at his ribs playfully, knowing that he was secretly, wildly ticklish. "We can work it out!"

Dean gave a small smile in spite of himself and sighed in defeat. "You and your Beatles."

Melissa giggled but then looked at him a little more seriously. "Yeah but...are we...are we okay now? After everything?"

Dean nodded, thinking back to what Sam had said earlier. "Yeah, Missy. We um...we're good."

Slowly, a little awkwardly, Dean wrapped his arms around her waist. She was surprised, and didn't return the hug at first. Only stood stunned. She was expecting much more resistance, considering what had happened the last time they saw each other. But maybe time did heal all wounds.

She encircled her thin arms around his neck and closed her eyes, smelling the old leather and gunpowder. Dean readjusted his grip to be tighter as she returned the hug, almost leaning on her. He felt all his muscles relax.

"I'm sorry about what I said," he whispered. She smiled softly as she felt his voice rumble in his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry too...for everything."

"I...I forgive you, Missy," he said reluctantly, but felt like he really meant it this time. If he might lose Bobby altogether, he didn't want to lose Melissa too. He already had that happen once, and from the looks of her it wasn't working out very well for either of them.

"Thank you," she replied, grateful tears welling up in her tired eyes.

"Damn, when Sam called you I told him I wasn't gonna do any chick flick moments. It only took you two minutes to get it outta me," Dean sighed with a smile as he pulled away from her.

She gave a watery laugh before leaning back against the hideously papered wall. "Yeah, whatever, _Dirty Dancing._ "

"Hey, Swayze-"

She shook her head and laughed. "Yeah, yeah, if it's Swayze it doesn't count. I know," she said, but with a knowing smirk. She thought he saw Dean blush a little. "Honestly, I was expecting more of a fight from you."

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah well, I'm probably goin' to hell and Bobby's in a coma. To tell you the truth? I don't know if I've got much fight let in me, Missy."

Melissa's face fell. "Right...yeah."

There was a pensive silence before Dean started fumbling through his pockets, eventually producing a hotel keycard.

"You can go clean up in our room if you want," he offered, holding it out to her. "I know you hate hospitals."

She smiled and gently took the key from him. "Thank you. I'll come back in a little while and we'll...we'll figure this out, alright?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled back, stuffing his hands sheepishly in his pockets. "Yeah...I think we will."

 **Author's Note:** I hoped you liked it; more soon! Thank you for reading!

Thank you to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your lovely reviews! And I'm sorry for toying with your emotions, but if it's gonna feel like Supernatural, I kinda have to don't I? ;) And _**KathleenWinchester**_ I'm so glad you noticed the parallels between Dean pushing Melissa away and John pushing Sam away! I didn't know how obvious I should make it.

Anyway, PLEASE review to let me know what you think!

Peace and love.


	26. Chapter Twelve: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Rocks Off"** by The Rolling Stones

\- _"_ **The Changeling"** by The Doors

 **Chapter Twelve :** Part Two

Having opted to stay with Bobby at the hospital all night, Melissa was passed out only a couple hours after starting research the next evening. Her glasses were crooked on her face and her hair was slightly messy as she laid mumbling in her sleep on the couch next to Dean. He sat in an armchair, his dusty old lore book spread out on his lap. A surprising amount was learned about dream root and the experiments from the test subject and Phish follower Dean had interviewed earlier in the day, who reminded him of what Melissa must've been like in high school. The next problem was where to find the dream root. If they could use it to get inside Bobby's head, in theory, they could help him escape. But, Sam had ended up snoring with his head in his book about an hour before, and he had found nothing to go on, so Dean had a little time to himself.

He decided to brush up on his knowledge of hellhounds. They may have been the scariest component of hell he'd come across so far, beside the fact that all demons were once human, and that there was no way of saving him from the pit. Or, at least, that's what he'd heard from Ruby a few weeks ago. He'd yet to tell Sam or Melissa, well he'd yet to tell Melissa a lot of things, but he would wait until after Bobby was out of the coma. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. It was a little past eight, and the darkening light was making him tired. (The whole impending trip to hell thing was making him tired, too.)

Melissa had been mumbling in her sleep for about an hour now, and Dean had managed to make out 'Allen,' 'Rosie,' and even his own name. He had frowned at this, knowing he was now among the names of the dead. But still, three more months.

A while later, she began to stir beside him, breath quickening as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes.

"Mornin,' sunshine," Dean smirked, remembering the way she was waking up. She only flipped him off as she continued crawling out of sleep. Dean chuckled huskily, regarding her for a moment. He was still saddened by the distance between them now, but maybe it was for the best. Dean knew first-hand how much loving someone could complicate things in this line of work.

She yawned into her fist and sat up straighter, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes. "Find a way to get the dream drugs?"

His smirk fell. "Not yet."

She nodded, setting her glasses lightly on the end table and heading to the kitchenette for some coffee. Dean had been on research duty for a while, she figured she could carry the weight for a couple hours while he slept. Dean flipped from the page about hellhounds as Melissa's back was turned to him.

Meanwhile, Sam, sleeping with his head on a book at the desk by the window, moaned blissfully. Melissa half-laughed, half-grimaced.

"Jesus," she said, turning back to Dean and leaning on the grimy motel kitchen counter behind her. "Never heard him do that before."

"Yeah, it ain't pretty is it?" Dean said, skimming the section about dream root for what felt like the thousandth time. He had no fucking idea where to get some in Pittsburgh.

Sam, grinning goofily in the middle of his dream, let his head slip off his book and hit the desk loudly. He groaned at the sudden awakening, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his blue flannel as he lifted his head. He wasn't quite sure how to feel. As all people, he sometimes had sex dreams, and but he'd certainly never had one about Bela Talbot before. Dean and Melissa giggled as they watched his bleary-eyed confusion.

"Dude, what were you dreaming about?" Dean laughed. "You were making some serious happy noises."

"What?" Sam chirped out. "No one. Nothing."

Melissa looked down at her coffee, hiding her smile as Sam turned around to face Dean.

"C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie? Brad Pitt?"

"What? No," Sam said, brows furrowed but cheeks heating up. "It-it doesn't matter."

Melissa snorted at Sam's hapless expression.

"Whose side are you on, Mel?" Sam exclaimed, hands spread out in front of him in exasperation.

She shrugged, sipping her coffee.

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Whatever."

"I called Bela," Dean chimed in, bringing them back to reality. Sam smiled awkwardly, trying to hide his uneasiness.

"Bela? Yeah? She..what-" Sam stuttered, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Who's Bela?" Melissa asked, coming to sit back on the couch. She raked her finger through her heavy hair and cleared her throat. She didn't know if she felt safer back with them yet. She was getting a little tired of flipping back and forth between being estranged and being part of the family.

Dean laughed bitterly. "You don't wanna know."

"Is she gonna help us?" Sam asked sheepishly, finally finding his words.

"Shockingly, no," Dean said matter-of-factly, shutting his book with a snap. "I was trying to decipher the doctor's notes earlier; unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you."

He handed a paper to Melissa, who scrunched up her face at the words that looked as though they were in a different language and slid her glasses back on.

Sam nodded, then looked around the room, not focusing on anything. He was trying to keep Bela out of his head.

"You gonna help us with this or what, Sammy?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows after a moment.

Sam snapped his head back towards them. "Oh! Uh..yeah." He was about to jump out of his seat when a knock sounded at the door. Dean touched Melissa's arm a little as he got up to get it, leaving her with the papers. She almost frowned, missing him suddenly even though he was right there.

"Bela," she heard Dean greet dejectedly at the door. "As I live and breathe."

Melissa looked up to see a thin blonde woman in a trenchcoat nearly push past Dean and walk to the center of the motel room, her designer boot heels clacking as she went. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam turn halfway back to the desk and tried to avoid looking at the woman, his eyes wide. Dean shut the door behind him with a sigh, waiting for the response.

"You called me. Remember?" the woman, Bela, asked in a British accent.

"I remember you turning me down," Dean replied, his arms crossed as he approached her.

"Well, I'm just full of surprises," Bela said, pulling off her coat. Melissa frowned; Bela seemed slimy somehow, but she wasn't sure why. Sam glanced at Bela and gave her an awkward wave over his shoulder.

"Hey Bela, what's goin' on?" he choked out. Melissa furrowed her brows at his odd behavior.

Bela nodded at him and then turned to Melissa, still sitting on the tacky couch. "I don't believe we've met. Bela Talbot," she said, sticking her hand out. Melissa only leaned back, placing the papers on the coffee table and crossing her arms defiantly.

"Melissa," she said curtly. Bela's face fell and her jaw clenched as she retracted her hand, and Dean chuckled at Melissa's cold demeanor. She really did know how to read people.

"Not...Melissa Lowry?" Bela asked, her eyes lighting up in realization.

"What's it to you?" she shot back, preferring to remain private.

"Oh nothing," Bela shrugged, her face turning in a wicked grim. "You're famous, y'know?"

Melissa nodded and narrowed her eyes. This was certainly not a good first impression. "I bet all that hunter gossip takes up a lot of your time."

"Oh, darling, I'm not a hunter," Bela condescended. "But I do have enough time to make millions of dollars."

"Yes, money is all that matters," Melissa mocked. Dean stepped in front of Bela, blocking her from Melissa's view as he watched her rosy cheeks flush even more in anger. They didn't have time for a fight.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he said, glancing over at Sam for backup. His brother was still turned halfway toward the desk, looking down at the scuffed motel floor.

Bela sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "I brought your African dream root," she said, handing him the jar. "Nasty stuff; not easy to come by."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Dean asked accusatorily.

"What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?" Bela asked slyly. Melissa watched the scene from the couch carefully, noticing Dean's tense expression and his protective stance.

"No," Dean answered gruffly. "You can't."

"Come on," he continued as he plopped back down on the couch next to Melissa. "I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them."

He handed her the jar of yellowy weeds, eyeing Bela. Nobody who shot his brother ever earned his trust back. He was satisfied to know that Melissa didn't seem to trust her very much either.

"You said this was for Bobby Singer?" Bela asked, standing straight in the middle of the room, her head held high. Melissa was beginning to wonder what the woman did, and where they knew her from. And moreover, where she herself knew Bela from. It wasn't the face, it was the voice. She had heard that voice somewhere before.

"Yeah," Sam said, his face searching as he finally turned to face the center of the room.

"Well, I'm doing this for him, not for you," she explained, her lips pressed together thinly.

"Bobby?" Dean inquired, leaning forward with his elbows on his denim-clad knees. "Why?"

"He saved my life once," she told them, pausing a moment. "In Flagstaff."

"Flagstaff," Melissa chimed in, knitting her brows together in confusion. "What year?"

"What do you mean what year?" Bela asked harshly.

"Was it '98?"

Bela stopped and regarded the other woman. "Yes. How did you know?"

Melissa laughed breathily, without humor, handing Dean back the jar and walking over to Bela. She was taller, which was unusual for her considering how much time she spent with the Winchesters, and it only added to her confidence in the moment.

"Well, I'll be damned," Melissa said, getting close to Bela's defined face. "Haven't seen you since I was 18."

"Okay, what the hell? Do you know everyone that we know?" Dean asked from the couch.

"You really don't remember me?" Melissa continued. "Here," she said, pulling off her glasses, "this better?"

"Hm," Bela said, trying to mask her uneasiness. Now she definitely did remember. "Guess I forgot I met you before your glory days."

"Same to you," Melissa narrowed her eyes.

"Anyway," Bela sighed, turning back to Dean. "I screwed up and he saved me, alright?"

"Sure," Melissa said from behind her. "That's what happened." She didn't say more, knowing they needed the dream root. After Bobby was out of the coma, then she might be ready to bring up the past.

Bela ignored her. "Are you satisfied?"

"Maybe," Dean replied.

"So when do we go on this magical mystery tour?" Bela asked with a mischievous smile.

Melissa grimaced, backing up and leaning against Sam's desk. Hearing someone like Bela make Beatles references rubbed her the wrong way.

"Oh, you're not goin' anywhere," Dean assured her as he got up and locked the jar in the safe, sitting next to the Colt. "I don't trust you enough to let you in my car, let alone Bobby's head. No offense."

"None taken," Bela replied with an eyebrow quirked, but her smirk fading.

Dena gestured for her to leave, and while Bela fussed, she eventually left to get a room for herself. It gave Melissa a sick sense of satisfaction; the rich thief staying in a grimy hotel frequented by hunters.

"Nice...nice seeing you…" Sam said awkwardly as Bela shut the door with a huff. "Bela."

Dean looked to Sam in confusion and Melissa fell back on the couch with a heavy sigh. She ran her hands through her hair anxiously.

"Damn," she said, holding her head in her hands. "Getting a little sick of blasts from the past."

 **Author's Note:** Ugh I can't believe this is five days late. I'm so sorry! I had a bit of an emergency last week and I didn't have a chance to get to the computer but everything's fine now! I'm gonna do my best to finish the chapter this weekend. Thank you so much for your patience! Again, I'm so sorry.

Thank you so much _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your reviews! I promise to get things up quicker this week; thanks for sticking with me! And _**KathleenWinchester**_ I can't believe you're rereading! That makes me so happy. Thank you!

I hope you enjoyed this part of the chapter, please stay tuned for the next installment! Thanks for reading!

PLEASE review below to let me know what you think!

Peace and love.


	27. Chapter Twelve: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Dream A Little Dream Of Me"** by The Mamas And The Papas

\- _"_ **Something"** by The Beatles

 **Chapter Twelve :** Part Three

Sam felt drunk and dizzy, stumbling around in Dean's head. Turns out, the Phish groupie, Jeremy, Dean had met earlier wasn't as helpless as he seemed. And now, they were looking for this pothead Freddy Krueger in Dean's dreams. All the psycho needed was a little DNA, and when Dean accepted a beer from him, it was pretty much all over. Melissa, Bobby, and Bela were back at the motel, researching the ins and out of dream root. They'd managed to pull Bobby out of his coma through dreamwalking, but the celebration was short-lived when they learned Jeremy was the murderer, and that Dean was also a target. Sam and Dean, meanwhile, had been driving around for two days searching for Jeremy or some way out of the problem, and neither Dean nor Bobby were allowed to sleep. They were still being hunted. In other words, the roadtrip had been just peachy for both Sam and Dean.

"I mean, this Jeremy guy isn't a friggin ghost, where could he be?" Dean asked through gritted teeth, his jittery hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Sam looked over in concern. "Dean, are you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little...caffeinated."

"Well, thanks for the newsflash, Edison!" Dean growled as he cell phone began to ring. "Tell me you got something!"

Bobby gave him no good news; neither Bela nor Melissa was getting anywhere with research, or with contacting the spirits using Bela's high-end ouija board. And Dean, finally fed up and beyond exhausted, pulled over and decided to fall asleep. If they couldn't find Jeremy, why not let Jeremy come to them? Sam had reluctantly agreed, but was now regretting it. He had no damn idea what he would find in Dean's mind, and there was no sign of Jeremy so far. They were in the same dark field they'd come to a stop at. Only now, Sam couldn't feel the coolness of the dewy night air. It was like his outer layers had gone numb. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around aimlessly just as Dean was doing. Suddenly, that old song Sam recognized came on around them. The name didn't come to him for a moment until Lisa appeared to the left of him and his brother. It was _Dream a Little Dream of Me_ by The Mamas and the Papas.

Lisa stood out in vivid colors against the dark landscape, lit up by an unknown source. She sat on a red and white picnic blanket, wine and food spread out around her. She looked like a Sunday afternoon.

"Hey," she said to Dean. "You gonna sit down?"

She took a second wine glass and held it out to him. "Come on. We only have an hour before we have to pick up Ben from baseball."

But then, just as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone. There was only the darkness and the outline of the trees. Dean, whose back was to Sam slightly, cleared his throat as his cheeks tinged pink.

"I've never had this dream before," he tried to convince Sam half-heartedly.

"Okay," Sam replied.

Dean was about to continue when another song sounded over what appeared to be the radio in Dean's head; this one was easier to recognize: _Something_ by The Beatles. Now, the vision was to their left. Sam looked over with Dean, and the first thing he recognized was Bobby's couch. But then, he had to avert his eyes. It was Melissa, sprawled on the couch, covered only by an old quilt. Her right breast was exposed and she was propped up on her side, watching Dean with a lazy, blissful smile.

"Hey, I'll let you pick the music this time," she told him, her voice calm and slightly coy. But her eyes grew a little watery as her smile widened.

"I love you so much, asshat. I'm not gonna leave you again, okay? I _promise_ I won't be a stranger anymore," she said through her happy tears.

Dean's own eyes welled up, but he wasn't sure why. He'd seen this before, but seeing it while dream-walking was different. It felt more real, but if it was his own dream, he would've been able to get on the couch with her. She was a vision of their only night together.

"Melissa," he breathed, almost marveling at her. His heart ached.

"Now, come on, Bobby's house is drafty as fuck. I could use your jacket," she laughed a little, but her last words were fading as the lights went low again. And she was gone.

Sam turned back when the music stopped to see Dean with his head bowed, scratching nervously at his five-o'clock shadow. It'd been a few weeks since he'd had that dream, but he knew that was probably what led to the mumbling in his sleep. And really, that dream was what led to the drinking and the women. For a while right after she left, he would have it almost every night. Every time he would close his eyes, he would see her; so he had to do his best to forget.

"Why that song?" Sam ventured sadly from behind his brother.

Dean sighed in defeat and decided to tell the truth, running a hand over his face. "It always reminded me of her."


	28. Chapter Twelve: Part Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Nights In White Satin"** by The Moody Blues

 **Chapter Twelve** **:** Part Four

Dean rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other gripping the wheel tightly. He sighed harshly and looked out onto the dark highway. It was past one in the morning, and no one was out on the road. Bela was gone, and so was the Colt, but hey, at least Jeremy was dead. Everything was turned upside down, and now they were all on a hunt for that British bitch. They didn't have time for this shit. Dean was beyond mad. He couldn't stand her. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white. The drive before them back to South Dakota seemed longer than eternity. Once they were at Bobby's, they could track her right the hell down. And then Dean could finally kill the bitch. Now, when he thought of her, all he could see was another monster.

Sam, however, was less jazzed about the idea of killing a human being. Even though they knew she had killed at least one person in her family, it just wasn't enough to go on. But judging by the body language Sam was seeing now, this was not the time to bring it up with Dean. Instead, he went a different route.

"So...Mel likes the Beatles?"

Dean sighed, a cold February rain was just being to fall. "I don't wanna talk about this, Sammy."

"Well, you won't talk about what _you_ saw in there, so why don't we talk about what _I_ saw?" Sam said, crossing his arms. It had been about two hours of driving in silence, and he was starting to feel a little pissed. He had never found himself missing the sound of Dean's mullet rock until now.

"Dammit, Sam, we've been over this a million times, alright?" Dean huffed. "I can't….I don't love Melissa."

"Oh, bullshit, Dean," Sam finally snapped. If there was one Dean he hated over all the others, it was mopey Dean. "Look, I'm gonna do my best to get you out of hell, but you're gonna die someday anyway. Somewhere down the road. Do you really wanna die with her thinking you hate her?"

"She knows I don't hate her," Dean muttered, but his heart twisted in his chest. He really wasn't so sure anymore. He missed the old them. Life was getting too complicated. Somehow, a life of revenge seemed to get even harder after the revenge was over.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's stubbornness. "Yeah, _sure_ she doesn't."

. . .

Melissa still hadn't got quite used to smoking again. But, it did okay at relaxing her muscles, along with the soft sound of the storm. It hadn't stopped raining since the night Bela stole the Colt, and that was three days ago. She shivered a little, despite her large sweater and her flannel pajama pants. There was definitely at least a couple weeks of Winter left.

"Damn, when'd you start smokin'?" Dean scoffed in surprise from the doorway. Melissa jumped and gasped a little. Dean smirked.

"Every fuckin' time," Melissa muttered and then laughed at herself softly, shaking her head a little. She looked up at him and sighed out her last drag. "I think I quit for real when I was around 19? I just started up again a few months ago. I don't know. Maybe I thought it would make sleep easier." Then, she leaned back to put out the cigarette on the side of the sink and throw it in the basin.

Dean nodded, his expression unreadable. That would explain the weight loss and the ghostly complexion. "Yeah, well, hunting'll kill ya faster anyway."

Melissa giggled, remembering the night after she was possessed. She had actually managed to kill Tannin a few months back, on her year after the Winchesters. It seemed all she was doing these days was thinking back to her year of Winchester. But right now, it felt like a century ago, and the distance between her and Dean spanned oceans.

But as Melissa laughed, Dean's mind was flooded with memories from a different light. He saw her face from many times in the past two years through rose-colored glasses. He saw her kill the Wendigo, he saw her get them out of the police station in Iowa, and he saw her in the hospital. He saw the way she knew it was him almost immediately. And again he heard Sam in his mind; _Do you really wanna die with her thinking you hate her?_ And, as always, she was all he could see.

She looked down at the table, cheeks flushing under his gaze. And then, he acted without thinking. He rushed over and took her face gently in one hand, the other on the back of her neck, and he kissed her softly. It was short, Dean pulling away almost immediately, knowing it was a little more than sudden. But Melissa wouldn't have it. She grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him back in. The kiss was more urgent now, more passionate. She couldn't think about anything else. She was oddly relieved; it was as though she was living in a dream. Dean almost couldn't breathe; he was just that happy. He couldn't believe how much he missed her, and after this kiss, he knew he could never be away from her again. When they finally broke apart, Dean was kneeling before her, and she furrowed her brows at him.

"I thought-"

Dean lowered his head with a sigh and she stopped. "I just…" he started, looking past her at the paneled wall. "I don't wanna waste any more time. I...I love you. Even if you taste like cancer sticks."

Melissa smirked, putting two fingers to his chin and turned his head to look at her, and she was lost in his hazel eyes. Her own started to water and enveloped him in a hug. "I love you too," she whispered shakily and sniffed.

"Don't cry, Missy," Dean pleaded quietly, fighting off his own tears. He stood up, pulling her up with him. She was on her tiptoes as he was leaning down to keep their embrace, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and his around her waist. "I just...if I'm gonna go to hell...I wanna know what coulda happened with us...or something. I don't know. Nothing I say makes much sense anymore."

Melissa put her hands on his broad shoulders as she stood back a little to face him. "Dean," she smiled a smile that was somewhere between blissful and bitter. "You're not going to hell."

"No but...I am…." he sighed heavily. "I haven't told you everything…"

She stood silently for a moment before she walked back from him, his hands slipping from her hips and she turned around to make some coffee. After another month alone, and a year before that, she was having to readjust. Life was faster here. But life here was Dean. And Dean was enough.

"Okay," she sighed, feeling a little more than overwhelmed. "Guess it'll be a long night then."

. . .

Eyes rimmed red and hands shaking slightly, Melissa blew out a long breath and glanced out the window over the sink, wishing her coffee was still warm. The sun was finally rising. It was a little past four. It had taken quite a while for Dean to get through all the things he hadn't told her. Well, everything except what he'd seen in his own head. That was a little too much for even him to relive at the moment.

"That Ruby sure is a bitch, ain't she?" she asked, her tone glum but her smile still present. It seemed tonight that the blows on the hell front just kept coming, but her spirits remained relatively high, considering all of it. She was still a little lightheaded following the kiss, and she wasn't sure which thing to focus on. In all honesty, she was doing her best not to freak out in front of him. She would need a little time alone for that.

Dean laughed without humor, then looked back to the living room where Sam lay snoring. "Yeah, she is."

"Y'know, she might be lyin,' and I'm sure she doesn't know all there is to know about gettin' outta hell. And this Lillith bitch? I'm sure we could get her," she said hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "Hey, I'm not sayin' we stop trying. I just sayin' we need to look at this rationally."

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever, Sam."

"Missy-"

"No," she put her hand up to stop him. "I'm not buyin' it."

Dean sighed, leaning back in the kitchen chair. He knew he would never convince her. Sometimes he thought she was more stubborn than Sam. "Hey...so….what happened with you and Bela? I mean...your turn to tell a story now, isn't it?"

Melissa sighed. "Y'know, she was just...I was with Bobby in Flaggstaff after I got a little caught up with the cops-I mean, I was a inexperienced at the time-but she came along lookin' for something to buy...I may have tried to shoot her…"

"What?" Dean asked, then started to laugh heartily, not even thinking about the possibility he might wake Sam. "Why?"

"What you do mean 'why?' You've talked to Bela...you know. And I was a little on edge, alright? She's like a used car dealer but a million times worse," she smiled.

"Yeah, amen to that," he nodded. There was a silence for a moment as they looked away from each other. "Been a long year, hasn't it?"

She only nodded in response, still not meeting his eyes.

"I missed you," he admitted. "I mean...even when you were back...I still missed you."

"Yeah...I missed you too."

"Alright," Dean said, hoisting himself up and taking Melissa by the hand, pulling her from the table as well. "That's enough chick flick stuff for one night, I think. We should probably get some sleep if we wanna find that British car dealer…"

Melissa laughed, running a hand through his hair, behind his ear. Dean closed his eyes and involuntarily leaned into his touch, shivering a little. She hadn't done that in so long.

"I don't know...I don't feel so tired," she said with a smirk, then leaned in to kiss him again. Dean smiled against her lips.

. . .

' _And moral of the story,'_ Dean thought to himself sometime later, as they lay on the old couch together once again and the sky glowed orange, ' _The world is never so crazy that you can't find time for sex on the kitchen floor.'_

Neither of them were particularly vocal, though Melissa was more than Dean, they had managed not to wake up Sam. So, they eventually migrated to the couch that held so many memories. Melissa had fallen asleep within minutes as he ran his hands gently through her hair. She hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time. And maybe never so safe. And now, Dean saw her peaceful face bathed in the morning light as the birds began to awaken. (It seemed like there was an endless supply of roosters in South Dakota.)

And he traced little circles on her back beneath her sweater, and even though he knew he was destined for hell, and that there was a long road waiting for him when the sun rose high, Dean Winchester fell asleep with a small smile on his face.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, there's the end of this chapter! And now that things are back on track with Melean,we can finally get into the good stuff. (You know, Ruby, and Hell, and Cas, and Bobby. Yay!) Anyway, I hope you liked it! Thanks for reading!

Another special thanks goes to _**KathleenWinchester**_! Your reviews make me so happy and they are greatly appreciated. :)

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	29. Chapter Thirteen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- **"Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon"** by Queen

\- **"My Doorbell"** by The White Stripes

 **Chapter Thirteen** **:** Part One

"Yeah, well, isn't a surprise. Sure took 'em long enough, though," Melissa heard Sam from somewhere outside the realm of her dreams. She couldn't remember what she was dreaming about, but she knew it was good. She cleared her throat before she opened her eyes, squinting in the light. It was warm, and it took her a minute to realize she was wrapped in Dean's arms, his stubbly cheek pressed against the top of her head. Based on the rise and fall of his chest, it seemed he was still asleep.

She looked toward the kitchen to find Sam and Bobby smirking over at them. She groaned a little and closed her eyes, hearing them laugh at her. She blushed and buried her head in his chest. Dean slowly began to stir as well, feeling her movements. He tightened his arms around her for a moment before opening his eyes and kissing the top of her dark hair. He sighed blissfully, then bent his head down and whispered in her ear.

"You want coffee?" he asked.

She nodded a little. "Yes please," she replied softly, but didn't open her eyes. He carefully disentangled himself and stood up, making sure to keep the quilt on her as he left. He rubbed his eyes as they slowly adjusted. It was past nine, but he was still exhausted from all the events of the previous night. It had been quite the rollercoaster. He looked up to find a bemused Sam and Bobby watching him from the kitchen.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he said, trying to sound harsh with his voice still rough from sleep, but he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He ignored them as he walked over and took two stained mugs from the cabinet above the sink. Shiny yellow light glowed through the windows.

"Y'know, it's a little walk o' shamey, but I guess it ain't so bad," Bobby chuckled at Dean's disheveled appearance. He was just heating up a pan; he and Sam had been waiting with some coffee until Melissa and Dean woke up to make some breakfast. He was making sausage biscuits, such was now the tradition when they were in the house together on Sundays. Sam only laughed, his eyes crinkling up in that boyish way they did. He was glad maybe car rides wouldn't be as tense anymore.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Dean smirked, blowing on the two mugs of black coffee a little before returning to the sofa.

Sam sat down at the table and watched as Dean set the mugs on the coffee table, then shook Melissa, who had gone back to dozing. She looked up at him and smiled as she started to sit up, then pulled him down gently by his necklace for a kiss. Sam rolled his eyes in mock disgust as she ran her fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck. "Thank you," he thought he saw her say after they broke apart. Dean smiled at this.

Sam's eyes widened a little. He didn't remember the last time he has seen Dean look that way. The man was about to go to hell, and he was still able to smile like he was the luckiest man in the world. His face was calm; there was only joy. Sam smiled softly seeing it as he heard the pan on the stove begin to sizzle. But it was a melancholy smile. He remembered when Jess used to make him feel that way. He shook it off quickly; long ago, he had decided that images of her burning body were only allowed to haunt him in his dreams.

Dean lifted Melissa's legs as she leaned against the arm of the couch, then set them back over his lap as he sat down beside her. And he felt warm in a way he never had before. His insides were fluttery, but his heart was a crackling campfire. Its flames smelled of love and family and carelessness. He hadn't dreamt about hell the night before.

"Hey, uh, Dean?" he heard Sam call through the doorway at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Could you grab me a bucket? This is makin' me sick," Sam grimaced, but chuckled good naturedly as he did. Dean smirked but Melissa grinned mischievously.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, Winchester," she challenged, her light eyes dancing as she put her mug back on the table. Dean looked over at her inquisitively before she grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him in again. He almost spilled his coffee, but managed to set it down in time. The kiss was hungrier this time, and he smiled into it.

"Oh, jesus, guys, we're about to eat here," Sam groaned as the two started to make out, just to annoy him.

"Hey," Bobby snapped from his place in front of the stove. The first set of sausages were just heating up. Both Dean and Melissa came up for air and looked to him sharply. "You two kids better quit mackin' on each other or you don't get any breakfast."

Dean held his hands up in surrender and scooched down the couch a little. Melissa giggled at his dramatics and took a minute to look around her. She wasn't shivering, even though the morning air was crisp. The quilt was still draped over her thin body and the sleeves of her dark green sweater pulled down past her wrists. She had a family, she had her best friend (with something more probably attached to the title now) back, she had a roof over her head, and she had happiness. Even if only for a little while. And she felt whole.

 **Author's Note:** Do you ever have that week where literally every day something goes wrong? Well, I just had that week and I wasn't able to make it to the computer. Sorry about that! I'm back now. Thanks for being patient. Please expect the next installment very soon. I hoped you enjoyed this one, even though it's short. But sometimes you have to take a break from the angst and the gore, y'know?

PLEASE review to let me know what you think of the story!

A huge thanks to _**Imsebastianstanbutter**_ , _**KathleenWinchester**_ , and _**EmikoBankotsu**_ for your reviews on the last installment! They mean so much to me! I'll try to update more, just for you guys. ;)

Anyway, have a nice day!

Peace and love.


	30. Chapter Thirteen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **I Will Follow You Into The Dark"** by Death Cab for Cutie

 **Chapter Thirteen** **:** Part Two

Melissa drunk in the tepid but pleasant night air. Spring was warming over, and she would have been more excited if they didn't only have two months left. Eight weeks. She sighed without noticing but then caught Dean glance at her from the rearview mirror, giving her a small smile to reassure her. Hell was all they had time to talk about anymore, so Sam had the idea to take sort of a vacation. Melissa was a little saddened by the fact that these days vacation just meant a hunt that didn't have to do with demons or Lilith or the fiery pits that it seemed Dean would soon be swallowed by. She smiled back at him, a way of letting him know she was just fine.

The last few weeks had been hard. The boys had broken into Bela's apartment to find the Colt, with Melissa and Bobby off ganking a vetala, and it had all been a setup. The FBI had been on their ass before they ever picked the lock. But, eventually they got out of it, even before Melissa and Bobby had the chance to drive back to them. The police station had eventually been full of demons and it was a whole mess, but still, they got out of it. And even Hendricksen had been converted to their side. But now, Hendricksen was dead.

As they got back to the their motel, meeting up with Melissa and Bobby, they saw a report on the TV. The whole station had exploded in a ball of white light. Ruby, much to both Melissa and Dean's disgust, had shown up and announced Lilith was behind it. So, it seemed, everything was just getting worse all at once. Melissa rubbed tiredly at her eyes, trying to block everything out.

Sam was droning on about their next destination: the Morton house. Every leap year, someone someone dared to go inside, and each leap year someone went missing. Melissa tuned it out. Dean was calling it their Grand Canyon, excited to solve a mystery he had heard about for years. But it didn't make Melissa feel any better. It was on his bucket list, and now he thought it time to start crossing things off. She watched the trees rushing past the window for a moment before she stole another look at Dean in the rearview window, and felt her heart breaking a little as she thought back to the night exactly one week before.

. . .

 _At first, she couldn't tell whether the scream was inside her dream or outside, but she caught on once she opened her eyes to the pale glow of their Cincinnati motel room that Dean was having another nightmare. It had become a regular occurrence, some nights with Sam even running over from the other room thinking something had found them. Melissa looked over and found him with his jaw set and his arms wrapped tightly around the comforter, held close to his chest. His cheeks were ghostly pale and beads of sweat shone on his forehead in the moonlight._

 _She sat up and shook his shoulder gently. She shivered involuntarily as the covers fell away from her and exposed her bare chest. She was dressed in only black panties. She leaned back against the headboard and shook him again as she watched his brows furrow._

" _Dean," she said urgently. She shook him once more before he gasped harshly, flailing one arm out in defense. It almost hit her cheek but she caught his forearm and squeezed it tight._

" _Hey! It's just me!" she told him, and only then did he fully open his eyes. He looked at her like he hadn't seen her in a hundred years. He sat up quickly and wrapped her in a strong hug. She felt his heartbeat through his ribs, and the cold metal of the amulet as they sat skin to skin, his own shirtless torso clinging to hers._

" _Missy," he breathed, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, resting his head on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry I almost hit y-"_

 _She pulled away from him, cutting him off. "Don't do that, darlin.' It's fine," she assured him, she ran a hand down his warm arm. He shivered though his skin was on fire._

" _Hey, just, lay back down okay? It's cold as fuck in this town," she smiled at him half-heartedly, which he returned, if not a little shakily. She slowly let her head fall back down to the pillow, pushing Dean lightly down with her._

" _It was Ruby. I never told you….every demon starts as a human. In the dream….I was….I was killing you," his voice broke on the end of the sentence as he looked over at her, his cheek pressed into the pillow as he brought his hands to his face, not being able to help the sobs that wracked his body._

 _Melissa didn't hesitate as she pulled him to her, taking him in her arms as he cried against her bare chest, her head on top of his. She didn't need to hear more; she knew. She felt her stomach sink. She'd never seen him cry this way before. Sure, it was a little similar to that night when they had dinner over the parking lot. But this was worse. Then, he was sad. He was remembering. Now, he was scared. He was dreading. Time was a'wastin.'_

 _There was only the sound of Dean's soft sobs to fill the room. Sometimes Missy knew he didn't need her words. Just the feeling of her skin. She breathed out slowly, rubbing circles on his back. A solitary tear rolled down her rosy cheek, and she hoped he wouldn't notice._

 **Author's Note:** Just a little installment for everyone! :) And, if any of you remember the episode with the Morton house, you'll know what's coming next. (Here's a hint: Who ya gonna call?) I'm super excited to write that one! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!

Thank you so much to _**imsebastianstanbutter**_ , _**KathleenWinchester**_ , and _**EmikoBankotsu**_! Your reviews keep me going and I appreciate them so much! Thank you for your patience.

PLEASE review below to let me know what you thought! Have a nice day!

Peace and love.


	31. Chapter Thirteen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **We're An American Band"** by Grand Funk Railroad

\- " **Police and Thieves"** by The Clash

\- " **Communication Breakdown"** by Led Zeppelin

 **Chapter Thirteen : **Part Three

After a little nap, Melissa's thoughts were a tad less bleak. It was almost eleven, the windows rolled down and _Grand Funk Railroad_ blasting through the speakers. She held her head against the cool glass of the window as they cruised past the Morton house, Sam and Dean flashing their lights on the place, scoping it out and checking for movement. Nothing. It made sense; things weren't supposed to get exciting until midnight. They parked on the gravel outside the front stoop. Melissa was dozing pleasantly against the window, just trying to focus on the fact that she currently wasn't having a nightmare. The fact that she was in love with Dean. She thought that would never happen to her again. And Sam was like a brother. She never in a million years thought _that_ would happen.

"Hey! Look alive Missy!" Dean shouted her completely awake.

She rubbed her eyes and lifted her head. "I hate you," she groaned. Sam chuckled.

"Ah, you love me, gorgeous," Dean looked back at her from his seat, smirking with his eyebrows raised. She flipped him off as she yawned, running her fingers through her messy hair, leaning tiredly against the backseat.

"Okay, Mel, I think we're gonna get the stuff and head in. Sound good?" Sam said, closing up his folder full of newspaper clippings and zipping up his jacket.

"Yeah, alright," she sighed, trying to muster up her game face. She donned her leather over her flannel as cleared her throat. Sam left the car first, a familiar, determined crease set between his eyebrows. Dean cracked his door open a little before he hesitated and turned to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a little out of the blue. Melissa smiled at him, seeing the old pre-hunt glint in his eyes and the turned-up collar of his worn leather jacket. It was the little things about him that caught her off guard sometimes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, we're at the Grand Canyon, why wouldn't I be fine?" she said, running a hand through her hair and checking for the familiar feel of a gun in her pocket.

"I don't know...just checking," Dean replied with searching eyes.

"Are _you_ okay?" she countered, opening the door next to her just a touch and letting the brisk air in.

"Aren't I always?" he replied with a smirk, though the weariness in his eyes was clear to her. He didn't say another word before leaving her alone in Baby, the driver's side closing with a creaky _thud_. She sighed heavily and pinched at the bridge of her nose, feeling the ache forming behind her eyes. She sniffed and raked her hands through her hair again.

Then, biting her lip and trying to blink away her misty eyes, she shut her own door harshly. Her breath was still slightly visible, and she looked up to into the dim night to find a dusty old colonial, not dissimilar to the other haunted houses she'd seen before. She thought in the back of her mind of how she used to fell before hunts; the mixture of adrenaline and anxiety, and even joy. These days, it was nothing. She felt unplugged.

She ran up quietly to catch up with Sam and Dean, running an arm down Dean's leather-clad arm before walking ahead of them. She was sure this new numbness wasn't good, but it definitely helped her with hunting. It's easier to kill when you've got almost no feeling. And harder to be hurt.

. . .

The house smelled of must and dirt and old books, but it wasn't altogether terrible. Truth be told, Melissa loved old houses like these. Maybe that's why Bobby's felt so comfortable to her. More like home than anywhere else. But as soon as they stepped in, they'd heard rustling, murmurs. But it wasn't near enough to midnight and they didn't sound very ghostly. They would know if it was something supernatural. But they did have some kind of company. They stood outside the doorway to the living room, Dean at the front, Melissa and Sam behind him, standing with his back against the wall. They heard voices more clearly now inside the living room; maybe two or three people. Soon, Dean mouthed a 'go,' and Melissa's face curled into a smile. It was time for the cop routine.

"Freeze!" Dean yelled as they all filed into the dusty living room, flashlights held stiffly above their guns as they filed in. "Police officers! Don't move!"

Before them stood a bewildered man with glasses and a Han Solo-esque jacket, and a young man who looked slightly like a thin, baby-faced Rambo. Their eyes were the size of saucers and their surrendering hands were shaking. There were a few computer monitors and wires scattered around and a few more on a desk in the center.

"Alright, alright! Take it easy!" Sam shouted to the two men. It was only then that Melissa noticed the cameras pointed at her face. She cringed. She hated pictures. She stood quietly next to Dean, her flashlight still perched over her gun.

"Let's see some identification!" Sam demanded. Baby Rambo coughed up his wallet first, thrusting it towards Dean as Sam sized up the other man.

"Wanna tell me about that weirdo outfit Mr…..uh...Corbett?" Dean read from a card inside the wallet. At this point, the men with the cameras really started to panic.

"Are we under arrest?" Baby Rambo (which was much more amusing to Melissa than Corbett and was what she knew she would be calling him) squeaked out. "Oh god, oh god." He started to pace.

"We're unarmed!" Han Solo jacket exclaimed, but still didn't reach for his wallet. Melissa snorted and lowered her weapon. She could tell these guys wouldn't be able to fight worth a damn.

"I think it's alright, y'all. I got a feeling they'll go peacefully," she smiled over at the brothers.

"Wait…" Han Solo jacket chimed in, furrowing his brows. He slowly lowered his hands and pointed to Dean. "I know you."

"Very funny," Dean scoffed. "Now, let's see some I.D.-"

"No, I know both of you guys…" Han Solo jacket continued, now pointing at both of Winchesters. Melissa looked to them inquisitively, raising her gun again.

Sam had a look of realization and sighed. "Holy shit."

"What?" Baby Rambo chirped. Melissa was feeling about as confused as he seemed.

"Yeah...what?" Dean echoed. Melissa raised an eyebrow at him but he only shook his head a little in response.

"Uh...West Texas. The tulpa we had to take out? Those two goofballs that almost got us killed? Hellhounds or something?" Sam explained, pointing his flashlight to Han Solo jacket.

Dean was silent for a moment before uttering a "Fuck me."

"Okay," Melissa said, exasperated. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What the hell is going on?"

"Yeah, what _is_ going on, pretty lady?" Han Solo jacket said out of nowhere, sauntering clumsily over to her and holding out his hand for her to shake. "Ed Zeddmore, at your service."

"Take one step closer and you lose a testicle," Melissa warned coldly, crossing her arms over her chest with her gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

Sam and Dean both smirked, knowing how she could be with strangers. Dean thought back to the night when she pulled a gun on that one drunk guy. He wished he had told her just how much he loved her then. Now that things were getting down to the wire with hell, he was starting to realize how much time he wasted with her. Granted, it was unlikely she would have reciprocated his feeling back then.

Ed flushed and lowered his hand, bowing his head and taking a couple steps backward. Melissa saw Baby Rambo give her an aggressive glance but brushed it off.

"They think they're ghosthunters, Missy," Dean informed her.

"Um, we _are_ ghosthunters, jerkoff. Ghostfacers, actually," Ed rolled his eyes from next to Baby Rambo, who still looked pretty hapless but had his hands at his sides.

"Ed, what's going on?" Baby Rambo asked.

"They're not cops, buddy," Ed assured his puppy dog-eyed friend. "Not at all."

"Ugh, dammit," Melissa sighed softly, suddenly feeling very tired. "The amateurs are always harder to smoke out."

"I know," Dean groaned, then turned his annoyed eyes back at Ed. "Didn't you have a partner too, Ed? A different guy?"

"Oh yeah," Ed nodded nervously.

"Is he around here somewhere?" Dean asked, inching closer to Ed.

Ed cleared his throat. "Yeah, he's around here...chasing ghosts...somewhere."

"Okay, well, listen," Dean began. "You're gonna need to grab Rambo and your girlfriends and get outta here."

Melissa giggled quietly at Dean's mock authoritarianism but said nothing.

"Alright, listen chisel chest, we were here first, okay?" Ed challenged. "We've already set up base camp. We beat you."

Den turned back to this two fellow hunters with a mischievous smirk. "They were here first," he shrugged. Sam and Melissa nodded in mock agreement before Dean turned about quickly, grabbing Ed and pinning him against the wall.

"Where's your partner, Ed?" Dean repeated.

"Up-" Ed began but had to stop and clear his throat to make himself sound less high-pitched. "Upstairs."

Dean sighed heavily out his nose and then let Ed go, walking back to Sam and Melissa. "What the hell are you doing in the Morton house, Ed? On a leap year? What are you thinking?"

"We're spending the night. It's for our TV show," Ed replied proudly.

"What?" Sam furrowed his brows and his expression grew tense. "Great. Perfect."

"No one's ever stayed the night before!" Baby Rambo chimed in from behind his friend.

"Uh, yeah, actually, they have," Melissa spoke up to correct the young man, feeling the dread grow in the pit of her stomach. She had a feeling tonight was going to be much more complicated than originally planned. Not to mention, the cameras in her face were already starting to piss her off.

. . .

After a celebration between the ghostfacers of finally 'catching a ghost on camera,' and another awkward greeting between Melissa and the other members of the ghost fighting team, the supposedly groundbreaking footage revealed nothing but a death echo of a gangster being shot. _Plot thickens_ , Melissa thought, not recalling a time when Sam noted anyone being shot in the house. She followed Sam and Dean as they made their way into the foyer, going unnoticed by the amatuer ghosthunters as they gave joyous shouts and congratulatory high-fives.

"Think we were off on this?" Sam suggested quietly to the other two. "I mean, if that was just a death echo…"

"Yeah, but I don't remember anyone getting shot here," Dean countered.

"And if that's just a death echo, why the hell did so many people go missing here?" Melissa said, running a hand nervously through her hair. Something about this was definitely fishy.

"What's a death echo?" the portly cameraman, Spruce, asked from behind his lens in the doorway of the living room. Melissa sighed and turned away from the camera, upset with the ghosthunters' refusal to get serious about what was going to happen. She glanced up the tall wooden stairway next to her; the house was like a termite motel.

"Look," Sam turned to Spruce, "if we got a problem here, that ghost ain't it."

The other members of the Ghostfacers turned to the hunters with smug looks, ready to discount whatever theories they had.

"What's a death echo?" Spruce repeated emotionlessly.

"Dean, you tell it," Melissa urged as she turned around, having had enough of their crap. Ed was still giving her leering looks from across the room.

"Echoes are trapped in a loop, okay?" Dean explained. "They keep replaying how they died over and over again, usually in the place they got ganked. It's about as dangerous as a scary movie."

"The echo isn't dangerous," Melissa added. "But something else is."

"You're right," Dean agreed, barging back into the living room and gesturing to all the Ghostfacers, trying to edge them towards the front door. It was getting close to midnight. "We gotta go, let's go, move out."

"But what about our equipment?" Maggie, the only female member of the Ghostfacers, spoke up. "What are we gonna-"

"Lots of fun," Dean interrupted her firmly. "Let's go."

"Time is running out, you guys!" Sam shouted to them, checking his watch. Melissa also made her way into the room and started to push them towards the exit.

"Wait! Wait!" Ed yelled in the commotion, his arms raised. "Where's Corbett?"

. . .

A scream sounded from upstairs just as the clock was about to strike midnight, with all of the Ghostfacers insisting the scream belonged to Baby Rambo. Melissa bit her lips nervously, a habit she'd acquired as of late. In all honesty, it looked like they weren't getting out tonight. She missed the days of lonely salt and burns; at least they were simple and quick. None of this was making any sense. She would have felt more worried, even wanted to feel more worried, but still she couldn't make herself feel much. She paced around the living room, trying to think of a way to scare them out of the house.

She came up to Dean and grabbed his wrist as the Ghostfacers scurried around the room like headless chickens and Sam tried to urge them to leave Corbett behind. It was 12 midnight.

"It's too late, Dean," she said aloud, causing the Ghostfacers to quiet down. She shot her head up in realization and Dean gave her a confused glance. "But what's supposed to happen now?" she murmured.

She looked at the brothers for a minute in the silence. Dreadful anticipation filled the air as they all waited for what was to come. Nothing. Melissa rushed over to the front door and fought with the knob. It wouldn't budge.

"Fuck," she muttered, trying to kick it open. No dice. "Dammit!" she yelled, her face growing more red with anger when she realized at least two cameras were still pointed at her.

"Oh my god," the other leader of the team, Harry, exclaimed, putting his hand to his forehead. That started the rest of them up again, panicking once more. Sam and Dean joined Melissa in the foyer, grasping for any way to solve this problem. It was supposed to be a fun night of hunting together (an unspoken 'last fun hunt'); civilians made everything so much more complicated.

"Well," Sam started angrily, "it's 12:02. Are you happy, Dean? Are you good?"

"I am happy," Dean deadpanned in response.

"Not now, guys," Melissa pleaded. The last thing she needed was a group of helpless civilians _and_ an old married couple fighting.

"'Let's hunt the Morton house,' you said, 'It's our Grand Canyon,'" Sam continued. Melissa rolled her eyes. Sam got pretty pissy from time to time.

"Sam, I don't wanna hear this," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You got two months left, Dean!" Sam yelled, still quiet enough not to attract the attention of the Ghostfacers. Melissa clenched her jaw. So that's what this was _really_ about. "And instead, we're gonna die _tonight!_ "

Sam grabbed an old kitchen chair and grabbed it against the door. It broke into several pieces but the door stayed shut. Melissa suspected it was more in an effort to blow off frustration than to help them escape.

"Whoa! What the hell is going on, guys?" Spruce shouted. Melissa looked over to see the alarmed faces of the others.

"I'll tell you what's going on. Every door, every window-I'm guessing every exit in this house is sealed!" Sam informed them venomously.

"But, w-why are they sealed?" Maggie asked.

"It's a supernatural lockdown," Dean replied.

. . .

One more death echo and a few close calls later, everyone was upstairs in the office of the house's old owner, Freeman Daggett. They found many stuffed animal heads, a certificate for Daggett's fine work as a hospital janitor, some army c-rations, and the handy _How to Survive an Atomic Attack_ guidebook. This man's possessions oddly reminded Melissa of her father after Vietnam. It struck her in a strange way, making her almost sick to her stomach. She thought about her mother and siblings almost every day, her father's appearances in her mind were far more rare.

It took Dean a moment before he was able to pry open Daggett's dusty safe. Melissa stood behind Dean while Sam was still over at the desk sifting through mostly useless papers. The Ghostfacers stood around aimlessly, asking annoying a questions along the way but not offering much help.

"Crap...crap...taxidermy...crap," Dean narrated as he looked through the safe's contents. He pulled a few files from it, handing one to Melissa as they began to investigate.

"Okay," Dean said, heading back to the desk. Melissa followed. "You said Daggett was a hospital janitor?"

Sam nodded.

"Ewwww," Dean mused with a grimace. "I got three toe-tags here. One-death by gunshot, then train accident, then suicide."

"Ewww," Sam said. This was followed by a quiet "gross" from Melissa.

At first the Ghostfacers were lost, until Dean explained that Daggett must've taken the bodies from the morgue… "to play." Then, everybody was on the same, disgusted, page. And after a brief interlude where Dean had to go fetch Maggie, who had run off my herself to look for Corbett for some reason, the EMF was going nuts again.

Melissa grabbed Dean's wrist as she watched her breath come out in a white cloud. She was unsure when the death echoes were going to stop and the real monster, whatever it was, would finally show its face.

"Nobody move!" Dean commanded. "Hold on! Stay quiet!"

The room went completely black, with even the moonlight from the dirty windows blocked, for just a moment. When she could see again, Melissa found that both Sam and Dean had vanished.

 **Author's Note:** Ugh! It's been too long! But I'm really motivated now to get this season done so we can start with more Castiel and stuff. It's gonna be fun, I promise! More soon.

Thank you so much to _**KathleenWinchester**_ , _**EmikoBankotsu**_ , _**wideawakepastmidnight**_ , and _**.2017**_ for your reviews! They make me feel so flattered and motivated and they are always appreciated.

Also, _**EmikoBankotsu**_ , I'm so sorry I destroyed your happiness bubble but it wouldn't really be in the spirit of _Supernatural_ if I didn't, now would it? ;)

And, _**wideawakepastmidnight**_ , your review was so sweet and flattering. I hope I can continue to make the story enjoyable for you! Thank you so much!

Thank you all so much for your support! I hope you enjoyed this installment. Have a nice day!

Peace and love.


	32. Chapter Thirteen: Part Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **White Room"** by Cream

\- " **Don't Worry Baby"** by The Beach Boys

 **Chapter Thirteen** **:** Part Four

"Guys!" Melissa called, heartbeat quickening as she began to pace around the office. "Dean! Sam!"

The Ghostfacers shouted for Corbett but, they too, received no answer. She couldn't explain it. One moment her thin hand was wrapped around his wrist, the next she closed her fist to find nothing. She hadn't even felt him leave. She could feel her throat start to close up, biting her lips. _Damn_ , she thought, _I need a cigarette._ She wasn't a leader, she was a loner. She didn't know how to get them out of this. She put her forehead against one of the dirty walls, hands on either side of her, pushing into the wallpaper. She breathed deeply. She heard Sam's words again in her head, and decided to prove him wrong. They would _not_ die tonight.

She turned around and found that Maggie, Harry, and Spruce had all gone to search for Corbett. She sighed harshly and looked to the man in the Han Solo jacket, a fire in her eyes.

"Come on, Ed," she ordered, pointing her flashlight out the doorway. She whipped back around to face him once, jabbing her flashlight into his chest, feeling the gun in her pocket with the other hand. "You touch me, you die."

He gulped and nodded, but said nothing. He could tell she meant business. After a few minutes of wandering around, they split up to cover more ground, though Melissa knew it was risky. She couldn't think of what else to do. She spent a few aimless minutes wandering around, listening to the old creaks that made the house sound alive. Soon, she thought she heard a commotion upstairs. She tried not to fall through the splintery wood on her way up and, luckily, succeeded. She tread carefully, even though she was sure it was just the Ghostfacers causing more problems. She found Harry and Ed doing their best to tear each other apart and failing miserably, with Spruce and Maggie standing by. She groaned through gritted teeth and went to throw them apart.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" she shouted, grabbing them both by their collar, trying her best not to lose her flashlight against the fur of Ed's jacket. "We don't have time for this shit! Everyone get back to the office...now!"

She let go of them harshly, with a little push, and didn't look at any of them on her way out of the room, her boots stomping loudly down the hall. Moments later, she heard them start following her and sighed in half-relief. Her hands were shaking slightly and her stomach did a flip as she walked back into the office, shuffling around the room, looking for any clues. She didn't notice when all of the remaining Ghostfacers filed back into the room. She was like a tornado around the desk and through the safe. The Ghostfacers watched her nervously but stayed silent against the wall. She tripped on her way back over to the desk from the and caught herself on the old mahogany, but sliced her hand on a nail sticking out of the corner on the way down.

She gasped and hissed in pain. "Ow! Dammit!" She bit her lip and looked down at her palm; the cut went all the across from her pinky to the bottom of her thumb.

"Are you okay?" Ed stepped forward, his brows furrowed in concern. Harry rolled his eyes as he kept quiet, holding hands with Maggie.

"Don't talk to me!" Melissa shouted, pointing a warning, bloody figure at Ed but not facing him. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Melissa took a deep breath, holding her hands to her forehead, forgetting about the blood. "Okay, think. Think," she said allowed, paying no attention to the Ghostfacers. "Cold War, Cold War, atomic bombs….Oh my god."

"What?" Maggie ventured boldly. Melissa intimidated her more than she would have liked to admit.

"A bomb shelter!" Melissa exclaimed, her face lighting up. She rushed out of the room, the Ghostfacers following her down the stairs. "All the cold war nuts had 'em!"

. . .

Just as they were all filing into the basement, the door slammed shut behind Spruce. Melissa wrestled with it for a minute, but she knew there was no time to waste trying to open it. She ran her hands through her hair, then pressed her palms against the door and took a harsh breath through her nose.

"Okay, Ed?" she yelled, trying to ignore the fact that Spruce was filming her. She would deal with him later.

"Yeah?"

"Go into Dean's duffel and make a circle with the salt, then get inside it. Then, _do not_ leave it!" she instructed, immediately uncomfortable with the tone of her voice. She _really_ wasn't a leader. She knew Dean would be so much better at this. Hell, _Sam_ would also be better at this.

There was silence on the other side of the door.

"Guys?" she asked apprehensively.

"Get inside the duffel bag?" Harry questioned.

"In the salt circle, you dickhead!" Melissa yelled quickly then ran down the stairs, not even waiting for an affirmative answer from the Ghostfacers.

She searched around the same way she had in Daggett's office, only a little less frantic. She was ready for this night to be over. She tried not to think about the throbbing in her palm or the fact that the fingers on that hand were getting cold and tingly.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Spruce said.

"You can sure read a room, can't ya?" she chuckled humorlessly. "Shoot."

"Earlier...Sam said Dean had two months left…" he began.

Melissa rolled her eyes as she inspected an old, rusty fridge. "It's complicated."

"Is it...cancer?"

She was about to respond when she heard high tones coming from the wall behind a bookshelf. "Shut up!" After a few seconds of silence, she was sure she didn't imagine it. "You hear that?"

"Is that music?" Spruce replied.

"Yeah," Melissa muttered. In one swift movement, she used all the force she could muster and pulled the bookshelf away from the wall. She grunted a little in pain as she could feel her left hand split open just a little bit more, but tried to hide it.

"Wow," Spruce marvelled, "you're strong."

Melissa flipped him off in response before kicking the door in. Inside, she found a long table, a few skeletons, Sam, Dean, Corbett, and what she assumed was the ghost of Freeman Daggett. She promptly shot the ghost (though it was a handgun she had long made her bullets out of iron, an invention Dean had been very impressed with, and frankly was surprised he had never thought of it) and rushed to Dean, who looked to be in much worse shape than Sam.

"Knocked him out cold," Sam croaked out.

"Yeah, I can see that," Melissa replied tiredly, taking Dean's head in her hands. He had a trickle of blood running down his cheek from his right temple, and his right eye was already swelling and turning blue.

"Spruce!" Melissa shouted at the cameraman, who had been staring wordlessly at Corbett's dead body, and jumped a little in surprise at his name. "I'm really sorry about your friend but could you make yourself useful and untie Sam, please?"

"Oh...uh...yeah."

. . .

First struck by the pleasant smell of dryer sheets, Dean's vision was slightly blurry upon his waking, but his green eyes eventually adjusted to the light. He saw Melissa sitting up next to him in what he assumed was a motel bed, her Buddy Holly glasses on as she read a beat-up paperback; she was running her fingers through his hair down to the nape of his neck, the way she always did. He smiled and shivered a little under her touch. She looked over at him, feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," she greeted him quietly.

He scoffed. "Shut up, nerd," he teased, nodding her glasses, then trying to sit up. It was only then that he noticed his pounding headache and the pain in his right eye.

"Not a good idea," she warned him, pushing him back down by his bare chest. He could feel the gauze on her hand and grabbed her wrist gently as he let his swimming head fall back on the pillow.

"What happened, Missy?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Nothing," she said, taking her hand back to keep him from getting worried, though he looked much rougher than her. "I'm alright. Sam's pretty good at stitching. How're _you_ feeling?"

"Like a million bucks. Daggett, right?" he asked her, clearing his throat, remembering hazy details from the previous day. She nodded. "How long have I been out?"

"Well…" she sighed, putting the book on the comforter between them and looking at the alarm clock on the rickety bedside table. "It's about five now, so...less than a day. And don't worry, you woke up right after we got outta the house, we checked you for concussion. Guess you don't remember that."

He shook his head a little, in an effort not to worsen the existing ache. "Who drove Baby home?" he asked.

Melissa laughed, then laid down next to him, pulling the covers up to her chest. She was cold despite the fact that she was swimming in one of Dean's flannels. She often just wore them as dresses to bed now, considering how much taller than her he was. "I did. Sammy can't drive for shit."

"Yeah, I know," he laughed back, pulling off her glasses, putting them on the nightstand of his side, and kissing her forehead. _She called him Sammy,_ he thought happily, not recalling that ever happening before. Maybe she finally felt like part of the family.

"Where is the boy genius anyway?" he asked, looking past her to find the other double bed rumpled but empty.

"Out getting dinner," she told him, then closed her eyes and yawned.

"Tired, Missy?" he chuckled, pulling her into his chest.

"Just a little," she admitted sheepishly, glad he couldn't see her flushed cheeks with his chin on the top of her head.

"Well, I bet you did a good job, saving me and Sam," he said, rubbing circles on her back.

"I dunno, Dean, it was a little touch and go for awhile," she said. "You know how I am with...people."

"I do," he laughed and kissed her hair, happy with the smell of dryer sheets from the comforter, and the evening light peaking through the windows, and the strong, stubborn, beautiful woman in his arms.

He looked down to find his old copy of _Cat's Cradle_ by Kurt Vonnegut. He face lit up in a grin. "Were you reading me a bedtime story, Missy?" he teased, poking at her ribs a little, knowing she was ticklish.

"It's an entire book about the atomic bomb, just figured it would be in the spirit of our last hunt. But, if you wanna call it a bedtime story you can," she giggled, her voice muffled against his chest, squirming a little as she pushed his tickling hands away. "I'll _always_ read you Vonnegut, if you want me to."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, chapter thirteen is finally done. I wanted to end on a little, happy, hell-free note considering how bleak things have been lately. I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading!

Thank you so much to _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , _**.2017**_ , and _**LydiaTyrundil**_ for your lovely reviews! I hope to keep the story interesting for y'all!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you think of the story so far.

Peace and love.


	33. Chapter Fourteen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Helplessly Hoping"** by Crosby, Stills, & Nash

\- _"_ **Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

 **Chapter** **Fourteen** **:** Part One

"The hell is that?" Melissa scoffed, watching as Bobby placed a mystical-looking pendulum over a map, trying to locate Lillith. Dean had thirty hours to go, and they seemed to have finally found an incantation that would work. "You a wizard now?"

"Can it, Buddy Holly," Bobby grumbled, opening his ancient book. Melissa smirked half-heartedly and pushed her glasses up her nose, watching as the candles set around the kitchen table flickered in the dim light of the evening.

Bobby spoke firmly in Latin, the pendulum slowly swinging until it stopped over the town of New Harmony, Indiana.

"We got a winner," Bobby announced solemnly.

"Alright," Sam said from the other side of the table. "Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean exclaimed, holding his hands out to silence everyone. "Let's all just shut up here, Tex."

"Pardon?" Melissa asked from Dean's right, ready to pull on her leather and drive past her truck's capacity all the way to Indiana.

"What's the problem?" Sam said, his brows furrowed.

"What's the problem?" Dean repeated angrily. "Come on, where do I begin? I mean, first of all, we don't even know if Lilith holds my deal...And we're going off of Bela's intel? When that bitch breathes, the air comes out crooked! Okay. Second, even if we could get to Lilith, we have no way to gank her. And third, isn't this the same Lilith that wants your giant head on a pike? Should I continue?"

Melissa sighed heavily in the wake of Dean's speech, pulling off her glasses and running her hands through her dark hair. She put her hands on her hips and waited for someone else to respond; she certainly wasn't going to. She knew deep down Dean was right. It was reckless and stupid, but if there was even a small chance it could save Dean, she would be as reckless and stupid as possible.

"Ain't you just bringing down the room?" Bobby said, obviously deflated.

"Yeah, well, it's a gift," Dean retorted smugly. Melissa could see there was something off about him today. There was no optimism left in him. He seemed so broken somehow.

"I'm sorry, then what are we supposed to do, Dean?" Sam shot back, his nerves far beyond shot at this point.

"Look, just because I gotta die doesn't mean everyone has to. Either we go in smart or we don't go in at all," Dean answered.

The argument continued, switching to whether or not Sam should summon Ruby. Melissa pinched the bridge of her nose. They didn't have time for this shit. She couldn't believe Dean might go to hell. Even though she'd known for months, it hadn't started feeling real until about the forty-eight hour mark.

"Sure, she's a liar, Dean," Sam shouted, "but she's got that knife!"

"Dean," Bobby tried to interject.

"For all we know," Dean cut him off, "she works for Lillith."

Melissa stood silently next to Dean, feeling paralyzed with her frustration.

"Then, give me another option, Dean," Sam pleaded. "Tell me what else."

"Sam's right," Bobby voiced again.

"NO!" Dean shouted with finality. "DAMMIT!"

Melissa jump and tried to hide her small gasp at his outburst. Dean bowed his head a little and put a gentle hand on the small of her back for a moment of apology, then turned back to everyone in the room.

"Just...no," he said again, but much calmer this time. "We are _not_ gonna make the same mistakes all over again. You guys wanna save me? Find something else."

Dean stormed away to go back to the living room and sit at the desk, cluttered with books about hellhounds and demons. They all stood stunned for a minute with wide eyes before Melissa sighed and followed him wordlessly. She ran her fingers along the oddly textured wallpaper as she made her way into the room, finding it comforting somehow.

She blew out a breath and cleared her throat as she sat in the chair across from him. "You're already seeing things, aren't you?"

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked, not looking up from the lore.

"Cut the crap, Dean," she snapped, her voice ragged around the edges. "I know you're seeing Hell...stuff."

"Hell stuff?" he smirked, finally meeting her light eyes.

"Yeah...I know you know what I'm talking about."

"And how you would know that, Missy?"

"Come on," she smiled sadly at him. "You're not the first demon deal I've seen. And I know it's not your first time either."

"My first time sucked, and you know that," Dean joked, his eyebrows raised, recalling the night they'd swapped stories of losing their virginities. Dean would've thought it would be awkward, but they just came about the topic somehow, and the conversation ended with them both in a fit of giggles. Turns out, in terms of sex, they were both very awkward teenagers. But she could see his heart wasn't in his grin.

"Yeah I know," she said quietly, standing up slowly. "If you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine. But...I'm here."

She grabbed the charm on his necklace and pulled him in for a kiss. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"I thought this was supposed to protect you," she said as she pulled away from him, still close to his face as she inspected the small golden pendant.

"It does," he replied huskily, feeling a little dizzy. It was probably from fatigue; the nightmares were constant these days. "I want...I want you to have it."

She bowed her head and blew a breath out of her nose. "Don't do that." It felt too early to her for him to make a verbal will.

"No, no, just listen," he said, taking her face in his hands. She was still leaning down and holding his necklace absently, and they were eye-to-eye. "You still haven't gotten around to that anti-possession tattoo. You should have something...for Lillith. Y'know? It's not about...the other thing."

She didn't know what to say as he slipped it off his own neck and onto hers. She stepped back from him and looked down at it, running her hands through her hair so it was free from the loop of leather around her thin neck.

"You're a liar," she said almost fondly, stepping towards the doorway. "But thank you."

"Anytime, darlin.'"

. . .

One of Bobby's old scrap cars screamed down a country road, Melissa exhaling smoke out the open passenger window as they went, the sun setting on this long day with the clock still ticking. Bobby and Melissa had left to go find another solution, as Dean had practically ordered. There weren't many leads out there, but they were going to visit another hunter up the country a little bit. Mostly just to say they'd tried. They both knew it was useless, though the words weren't spoken.

"I thought you quit," Bobby commented, breaking the silence.

"Don't tell Dean," she replied, winking at him.

"That man? I doubt he don't already know," Bobby said glumly. Melissa sighed. It made her heart twist a little even to hear Dean's name, it only made her see the dreams she'd had of him lately: black eyes and guttural screams.

"Yeah, I know," she nearly whispered. She turned the music up louder, the voice of John Fogerty dangerously close to blowing out the old junker's speakers.

"Hey, hey," Bobby chided, careful of even his most beat-up cars, as he turned it back down. Melissa watched him, blowing out rings of smoke. There were lines of worry etched on his haggard face and she suddenly felt very sorry for him. He was always there for them, and he never got much in return. Only more trouble.

She thought about the way he'd taken her in when she was in trouble with the law; even though all she was to him was one of John's lost souls. It was only after Melissa'd threatened to shoot Bela that Bobby had been impressed. He'd seen the same fire as John; the same rage, the rage that seemed to transfer into talent. Though he'd never say it aloud, he always thought she was the best hunter out of them. He'd seen her in her prime, in her early twenties when she was just a machine. The way she was when she was without the Winchesters. But even with them, she was the sharpest. She was quieter, more thoughtful in her killings. Not as brash as Dean, not as confused as Sam.

But he also knew it was different with werewolves. Once she'd told him, on a night over whiskey when she was just past nineteen, that's why she went after demons. She didn't trust herself around the werewolves. Sure, one day she was gonna find the bitch that'd killed her sister and end it. Back then, she was still trying to hone her skills; to be ready. Now, after years derailed by the Winchesters and their troubles, Bobby didn't know if he should feel glad or not. She had a family now, but she wasn't playing the game for herself anymore, it was only for the team. It was only made worse that he knew her before. So young and determined. He thought about that as he heard her sing along quietly to the Creedence Clearwater Revival, ashing her cigarette through the cracked window.

"Why didn't you trust yourselves around werewolves? I mean...besides the obvious. There's gotta be somethin' else. What happened before I met you, Mel?" he asked, finally ready to know the answer he'd been wondering about since he'd first met her. It baffled him to think about the fact he'd known Melissa for nearly ten years now. _Time flies when you're havin' fun,_ he thought ruefully as he waited for her response.

"Why are you asking me this?" she shot back with a bite, blowing the smoke out her nose. She was fiddling absently with Dean's protection charm. Bobby had noticed this but hadn't yet said a word about it.

"Because I don't know what'll happen tomorrow," he admitted, his weathered hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, as he thought of what was held in store for them. For Dean.

She chuckled breathily, flicking her cigarette out the window and lighting another. "Yeah...me neither." Biting her lip and once again feeling in a very _fuck it_ mood, she relayed to Bobby a memory that she thought of often but never spoke of, and only John Winchester had known the truth about.

"I was in Bridgewater…"

 **Author's Note:** Ahhhh! Another chapter. I think I'm breaking my own record. I hope y'all still like my writing, though!

Thank you to _**KathleenWinchester**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , and _**.2017**_ for your reviews! To use _**KathleenWinchester**_ 's words: they were lovely as always. :)

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you think!

Peace and love.


	34. Chapter Fourteen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Burn"** by Deep Purple

 **Chapter Fourteen** **:** Part Two

 _Dry air filled Melissa's lungs as she watched the bonfire burn, breathing hard. There was a crow squawking at something in the distance, the only other sound beside the crackling of kindling. She wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt across her brow. The woods around her was deserted, save for her and John, who was wandering around somewhere. He'd clapped her on the back, telling her he'd go to find more firewood, and if anything happened he was sure she could handle it. It was clear to her that he had more confidence in her than she had in herself._

 _Her mind was buzzing as she tugged nervously at the sleeves of her henley. It was near the end of August, but she decided to cover up as much as she could. She was still very new to hunting, only a couple weeks in, she didn't need anymore future scars than she had already gained. She bit her lip hard as she stared into the fire, thinking of the sharp turn her life had taken, wanting to taste the blood. She sighed a little. A hell of a first time in New Jersey._

 _John thought he had a lead of the werewolf._ The _werewolf that had started it all. Her hand went to her neck for a moment, feeling for the locket she no longer wore, as tried to block out scenes of bonfire and ruined campsites._

 _She heard a snap behind her and turned around quickly. She held her gun up shakily, swallowing hard. She forget about the flashlight on the ground next to her, watching the pine trees around her in the orangey light of the bonfire. There were no voices, the first thing John had told her to check for. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes for a moment as she took a deep breath in. Her heart was thudding in her eyes and she forgot about the harsh air and the deafening silence around her, all she could think about was that night four years ago in her aunt and uncle's backyard. The blood running down the front of her sister's nightgown. Fumbling for the flashlight. Hearing the screams._

 _A tall figure moved out from behind the tree with it's hands up, looking ready to attack. It took a step closer to her, attempting to close the distance. She could barely see it in the ight of the fire, and she was squinting as she stepped backwards, her head swimming as she grew nauseous._ This is it, _she thought to herself hazily,_ I can end this right now. _She was weighing her options when she slipped on the forgotten flashlight behind her, letting out a sound of surprise and she feel backward and her gun went off. The shot was still ringing in her ears as she hit the ground hard, but later she remembered feeling satisfied; happy. The werewolf was dead. She saw flecks of light flash before her as she slowly lost consciousness and faded into the black._

 _. . ._

 _Still dazed and nauseous, Melissa woke up several hours later with warm sunlight streaming over her through the window of the Impala. She groaned and forced her eyes to open. She turned her head slowly to find John in the driver's seat, his hands set firmly on the wheel and no music playing. She gripped at her forehead and sighed, an enormous ache behind her eyes._

" _What happened?" she rasped._

" _You shot a runner," he growled in response, not bothering to glance over at the dark-haired teenager._

" _What?' she replied quietly._

" _You heard me. Then_ I _had to go and clean up your mess. Don't worry; they won't find him," John told her._

" _What?! It wasn't the werewolf?!" she exclaimed. John shook his head angrily and opened his mouth to respond but Melissa cut him off as she continued. She held her head in her hand, her elbows on her knees. "But it looked exactly like I remembered...Jesus Christ! I'm a murderer."_

 _John sighed heavily. With Melissa, it was hard for him to stay mad. Almost the opposite of when he was with his boys. "You know what? I don't know how you were so stupid either! But this can just be part of the process...I mean no one gonna get caught. You make a few mistakes when you first start out, alright?" The words felt odd as they left his mouth, but for some reason he didn't doubt them. He knew she would be a great hunter someday. She just needed time. Lord knew he had his fair share of setbacks when first starting out._

" _Mistakes?" Melissa yelled as she looked back up at him. "I shot a man!"_

" _It was good aim, though," John mentioned off-handedly. "Silver bullet to the heart."_

 _With that, Melissa snapped. She slapped and punched at John as he drove down the country road, in which state, she wasn't sure. "You're a fucking murderer! You turned me into a murderer!" she screamed over and over._

" _Hey!" John shouted as he swerved. "You made you a murderer, you trigger-happy brat! I had nothing to do with it."_

 _She stopped for a moment and looked at him, her hands on the arm of his leather jacket, her eyes steady and even calm. In a split second, she was fumbling with the door handle as John cruised down the winding road at 50 miles per hour. She was sobbing dryly and struggling to breathe. It was all too confusing for tears._

" _Whoa!" John shouted and slammed hard on the brakes, burning rubber on the scorched pavement. "That's it! Get your stuff and get out!"_

 _. . ._

 _It took three days of on-and-off hitchhiking for her to get back to the lot in Wisconsin where John had been storing her truck. She rolled away from the lot with nothing but the clothes on her back, one gun, and a truck to her name. But she was ready. To hell with John. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel, her bloodshot eyes rarely blinking in the early morning light. She was shaky and exhausted, feeling the fatigue down in her bones._

 _In the back of her mind, she imagined the face of the runner, and the blood running down from the bullet hole in his chest. And she saw the red stain on the white nightgown. She felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins when she'd heard the snap behind her, and tingly goosebumps that ran down her skin as she'd pulled the trigger. And she drove down the road off into the great nowhere._

. . .

"That's _it_?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"What you do mean?"

"It was an _accident_ ," Bobby said, surprised about how the story ended. It seemed too small to make her quit werewolves for years the way she did. "And that's why you switched to demons?"

"Bobby," she turned to him, almost smiling at the familiarity of his baseball cap. Bobby was a constant in a way that Dean could never be. "Let me tell you a secret: I woulda killed 'im anyway."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, I know I've been teasing you, but I promise the next chapter will be the season finale! Hope you're all excited and I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!

Thank you to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**x3sunnydaay**_ , _**.2017**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , _**MsSabrinaMDiehl**_ , and _**Kathleen Winchester**_ for your reviews! They're always appreciated and valued and they brighten my day!

And _**MsSabrinaMDiehl**_ , I'm so flattered that you said you loved this story! I'll do my best to keep it that way!

PLEASE let me know what you thought of this chapter or the story as a whole in a review down below!

Thank you so much for reading!

Peace and love.


	35. Chapter Fourteen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

- _"_ **Kangaroo"** by Jeff Buckley (originally by Big Star)

 **Chapter Fourteen** **:** Part Three

After a fruitless search for some other solution, Bobby rolled the raggedy car up on the gravel of his lot, sighing as he caught sight of his decrepid house in the harsh sunlight of the May afternoon. He scratched at his bread with one hand and pulled the emergency brake, not looking at Melissa as she wordlessly exited the vehicle, slamming the door hard behind her. He felt the weight of the world on him. He would never tell the kids, but he always felt responsible. Dean didn't know what he was doing the night he sold his soul, and Bobby should've been there to stop him. Hell, Bobby often kicked himself for not up and stealing the boys back when they were still young, and maybe getting them to a normal life. Of course, that would still leave Melissa. But judging by all that she had experienced in her intense life, Bobby figured it was always just in the cards for her to end up where she was. Sad, but undoubtedly true.

He got out and caught up to Melissa eventually, who walked with her hips swaying and her arms crossed. She looked pissed. But Bobby knew he would be too if what seemed like the love of his life was about to go to hell. He heard mutterings at his side, and he would have gone for his gun if the voices weren't so familiar. Melissa cocked her head over to the shady side of the driveway near the front stoop when she heard the sound of the Impala door shut.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered. "They're leavin' Bobby."

She started to run to them, and she heard Bobby at her side but didn't look.

"Don't worry, Mel," he said. She looked back at him and saw him holding up the Impala's distributor cap. "Figured they might."

She smirked, slowing down but edging closer to the car, coming to rest against its side.

Dean tried a few times to start her up, then stormed angrily out of Baby, only to find Melissa leaning against the side of the car solemnly and Bobby standing before him with the distributor cap in his white-knuckled fist. Dean sighed harshly, running a hand over his face.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"We got the knife," Dean informed them as Sam walked up behind him. He was focusing more on Bobby than Melissa. He only seemed pissed. At the moment, Melissa was very hard to read.

"And you intend to use it without us?" Bobby asked with narrowed eyes. Dean watched Melissa light a cigarette with shaking hands out of the corner of his eye and groaned.

"Would you quit that?" he addressed her for the first time since exiting the car. She blew her smoke out her nose and looked over at him almost lazily; exhausted.

"Would you quit sellin' your soul?" she shot back. Dean set his jaw tightly for a minute, but didn't respond. He turned back to Bobby.

"Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?" the older man shouted at his boys. He was getting sick of them acting like such martyrs.

"Of course not, Bobby," Sam chimed in.

Dean sighed again. "This is about me, Bobby. This ain't your fight."

"The hell it isn't!" Bobby yelled, getting near Dean's face with his brows furrowed under the brim of his trucker hat. "Family don't end with blood, boy. And you need us."

"Bobby-" Dean started but Bobby cut him off.

"You're playin' wounded. Tell me, how many hallucinations have you had so far?" Bobby asked a little gentler, though his brow was still set rather angrily. Dean was silent. Melissa looked away, ashing her cigarette and staring up to the now cloudy sky. There was no wind in South Dakota that day.

Dean only responded when he glanced over at his confused brother. "How'd you know?" he asked Bobby, though it was really more of an admission.

"Because that's what happens when you've got hellhounds on your ass! And because I'm smart…" Bobby finished, mockingly smug as he walked backwards. He tossed the distributor cap to an unsuspecting Dean, who barely caught it.

"We'll follow," he announced and started back to the old junker he and Melissa had arrived in. "And don't be stoppin' to pee every five minutes," he called over his shoulder. Melissa almost wanted to giggle but her heart wasn't in it. She saw Sam, somewhere between angry and angsty, get back in the passenger seat with a slam of his door out of the corner of her eye. She sighed out her last drag and crushed her cigarette butt under the toe of her boot as went to turn away before she felt Dean lightly grab her arm.

"Hey...Missy," he started, not meeting her eyeline as she watched him, the circles under his eyes and the familiar worn collar of his red checkered flannel.

"Yeah?" she asked him a small voice, biting her lip. Knowing what might happen in just a few hours made her feel oddly shy.

"Just...drive safe, alright?" he asked, still not looking at her, examining the similarities and differences between their boots. He let out a noise of surprise as she wrapped him in a tight hug, standing on her tiptoes with her arms around his shoulders. It reminded him of the second day he'd known her, when she wrote the number for his _other_ _ **other**_ cellphone on his hand. He remembered how nervous he'd been, running barefoot in the motel parking lot to catch her before she could leave. A warm smile spread across his face in spite of the situation, running his hand through her soft, dark hair.

"You too," she replied, closing her eyes and feeling her heart beat fast against her ribs. He pulled away from her and took her face in his hands, wiping a tear that rolled slowly down her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't cry, you've got the necklace, you're golden!" he said happily, looking down at the face hanging from the cord around her slender neck. She laughed and smiled at him sadly. Then, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Sam gets the Impala, though."

Melissa's face fell a little but she tried to keep a little bit of that smile as Dean quickly kissed her cheek and said nothing more as he walked back over to his Baby. She couldn't explain it, but that was really the point when Melissa lost all hope. The moment she knew it was Dean's last drive in his car that would soon be Sam's. But somehow it was easier that she'd accepted it. She almost felt like she had a terrible secret as she walked back toward Bobby's car with that smile still lingering on her face.

. . .

Melissa held Dean's hand desperately as they watched the seemingly normal family from a bush about fifty feet from the window of the white suburban. New Harmony reminded Melissa a lot of the rich town she grew up across from. But, of course, as far as she knew that town didn't have any Lilliths. She rubbed circles on the back of Dean's hand with her thumb. It was an odd feeling, but she needed to be touching him as much as possible before he had to go to the pit. They only had about 45 minutes left. She didn't know where the last two days had gone.

It would have bothered her that she didn't ride to Indiana with the boys in Baby, but she knew Dean needed some private time to say goodbye to Sam. Back when he'd given her the necklace, she still had at least a little hope, she knew that was his way of saying goodbye. And as Dean felt thumb against the back of his palm, freezing despite the humid May air, he knew that _she_ knew. They didn't need to speak about it; their hearts were too heavy for words.

Eventful was one word for the caravan to Indiana. A police officer had come up to Dean, presumably for Baby's long-broken taillight. Instead, Dean knew he was a demon from his face. His real face. And it's not like they were in a hurry or anything. Plenty of time to clean up after a sloppy murder with the demon knife. But still, Dean's current state could be helpful; they could definitely kill more hell bitches with his new 'talent.'

"It's the little girl. Her face is awful," Dean shuddered from beside her. Sam lifted his binoculars and scoped out the small girl in the white dress through the window.

"Alright, let's go. We're wasting time," Sam announced, hoisting himself up from his crouching position. The other three hunters followed behind him before Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back, squeezing Melissa's hand harder than he already had been.

"Wait!" Dean shouted in a whisper.

"For what?" Sam asked. "For it to kill the rest of them?"

Melissa rolled her eyes. And people said Dean was the stubborn one.

"Yeah, and us if we're not too careful," Dean retorted, gesturing over to the loyal US postal service employee across the cul de sac. "See that real go-getting mailman out at almost midnight?"

Sam watched the man through his binoculars and remained silent.

"And over there?" Dean chimed again, pointing behind the mailman to an old man in a sweater vest, reading the newspaper in his rocker on the porch.

"Demons?" Bobby asked.

"Yes."

. . .

Though Dean was strongly against Columbian neck-tying a ten year old girl, Sam had to do little to convince him there was no other choice. It was about everyone. It was about saving the world. He sighed as he as Sam slowly made their way into the back door of the house. Melissa and Bobby were to stay behind and fight off any demons. His goodbye to Melissa hadn't been as bleak as he thought it would be. No kiss and no tears. Just one hug, and a simple _drive safe, alright?_ muttered in his ear. As they entered the house, immediately coming face-to-face with a dead old woman. There were flies buzzing around her.

Something about seeing that body gave him a wild sense of dying hope. It meant they were close to Lillith. He never thought they'd actually find her. Though if they did he would have preferred if it wasn't so down to the wire. Maybe he would make it. Maybe there was a way to save him from the pit, thinking back to the night Ruby had told him the truth. In the back of his mind he had to push away the swimming in his head and the sick feeling in his stomach. Something big was coming.

. . .

The familiar sound of the flame lighting the end of Melissa's cigarette filled the warm air. The crickets around them had stopped singing a few minutes ago, only adding to the electric sense of dread that surrounded them. Melissa leaned against the white siding of the house, boots planted firmly on the well-manicured, emerald green grass. Bobby paced in front of the window, his watching a grandfather clock tick in the study.

She felt nothing. She thought nothing. She had never known true numbness until now. She only smoked and tried not to feed off of Bobby's nervous energy. She knew what would happen after; with Sam losing his brother and Bobby losing his son, she would have to be the leader. And though she was a loner, she knew leaders didn't feel.

"Would you quit pacing?" she deadpanned to Bobby coldly.

He watched her with furrowed brows. "You realize Dean has three minutes left, right?"

"You think I _don't_ realize that?" she shot back. _Hm_ , she thought to herself, _maybe not numb. Maybe angry._ At who or what, she didn't know.

There wasn't much talk after that, but they heard commotion inside just as the grandfather clock was striking. All Melissa could do was close her eyes and breath deeply as she heard the sound of midnight. She hadn't looked in the window once, she figured Bobby had it covered, watching inside like a hawk. Getting ready to see his son die. She knew she couldn't watch him get ripped apart. She didn't know what it would do to her. She figured Bobby needed to see it happen because of how long he'd been with the Winchester boys. They always seemed to seek some sort of finality; it wasn't over until it was over, and even then maybe it wasn't.

Melissa had lost that kind of faith years before. The faith in herself, the faith in a good outcome. Watching her family waste away slowly took that from her. These days, she preferred quick and dirty. She preferred moving on and running away, as she had done before. Truthfully, after Dean was gone, maybe she would run again. She didn't know if she would have what it took to pick up the pieces. It was hard enough after John died. And he wasn't even half the man Dean was.

"Mel…" Bobby's voice said from beside her in a low, growly whisper. The urgency in his voice startled her, but she tried not to let it show.

"Yeah?" she asked quietly.

Bobby said nothing more but took off towards the front door instead. Melissa's eyes grew large and wild as she dropped the stub of her cigarette without a thought and followed him. She still thought nothing, but did feel the anxious tingling in her hands. It was becoming real now. Bobby fumbled with the doorknob before Melissa wordlessly pushed him out of the way before kicking the expensive French doors with all her force.

"Dammit!" she shouted, feeling some mystery emotion bubble inside her. She pushed it down.

It felt like hours as they ran frantically around the house, trying to break each door and window, save for the window looking into the study. _Supernatural lockdown_ , Melissa thought, thinking back to that night in the Morton house. She bit her lip and suddenly fought back the sting of tears as she panted, sprinting to Bobby on the front stoop once again. They had so much time back then.

"Nothing?" she asked breathlessly, her hands on her knees. Damn, she would have to stop smoking soon if she wanted to keep hunting.

Bobby shook his head and she saw he pain in his dark eyes.

She gritted her teeth and kicked at the door once more, her rage beginning to overflow. But, to both of their surprise, it opened slowly, with a warm creak. They looked at each other for a beat of silence, then ran in. It took Melissa only a moment to find the study. She stopped at she reached the threshold and lingered there for a moment when she saw the sight before her. Sam kneeling with Dean in his lap. Dean's blood and guts were scattered throughout the room, his chest hollow and his eyes lifeless. Sam was sobbing but said nothing. He hadn't yet noticed the rest of his family arrive. Bobby went in past her immediately, but only stood in front of Sam quietly, gazing at Dean's body.

The fire that was lit inside Melissa at that moment was only rivaled by the moment she had decided to start hunting. It was real. She hadn't known until then that she could have never imagined it being real. There were no noises. But to her, it seemed, Dean deserved all the noise.

In a split second, Melissa lost it.

"SON OF A BITCH!" she screamed over and over, shattering the glass of the exquisite bookcase in the corner of the room, leaving forgotten cuts on her hands and wrists. She ripped the books out one by one, hot tears streaming down her flushed face. Eventually, she knocked the case completely over, almost reveling in the gunshot-like blast it produced as it hit the polished mahogany floor.

"Mel…" Bobby started, but she ran out of the room before he could say anything else.

It was rare that she really sobbed; sobbed so much anyone could hear it. Hear the pathetic cries of a broken heart. As she almost fell back down the steps of the front porch, the loose strands of hair falling out of her ponytail plastered to her face in the sticky air. She fell to her knees on the lawn, still glistening with holy water from the sprinklers, forgotten meat suits littering the ground around her.

She screamed. She screamed more than she ever had, hitting at the ground over and over again. Her face was blue and her voice soon became hoarse, tears still rolling down her cheeks. The crickets had begun their singing once again, and the neighborhood around her was peaceful now. The demons were gone and the work was done. The cloudless sky was dark indigo and the full moon shined brightly. But no night could ever be more imperfect. Melissa didn't know how long she screamed, but she knew it would never be long enough.

 **Author's Note:** Hello again! Sorry I took an extra week with this one. It was a little hard to write, for obvious reasons. I hope you liked it!

Special thanks to _**ImSebastianstanbutter**_ , _**LoveFiction2017**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , _**KathleenWinchester**_ , and _**EmikoBankotsu**_ for your lovely reviews! They brighten my day and I hope this chapter was good for y'all!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought. This one I felt like needed to be pretty close to the story. Next one will be more original, I promise. Again, thank you so much!

Peace and love.


	36. Chapter Fifteen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'"** by Journey

 **Chapter Fifteen : **Part One

"HE'S TEARIN' YOU APART…" Melissa sang at the top of her lungs, swaying her hips slightly as she made her way around the sunny kitchen on the late September afternoon. Journey always put her in a good mood, and she needed all of those she could get these days. Bobby was due back soon, and she was going to do something nice for him. She was going to _try_ to make lunch. She was never in charge of meals in Bobby's house, or any house, really.

But, she was determined not to burn the grilled cheese. She had just finished making the first sandwich, which was to be hers as long as Bobby hadn't come back yet, belting out the lyrics that came crackling through the old radio. She was watching the phones today. Well, Bobby was originally _supposed_ to cover the phones, but a prank caller (or more likely a demon caller) with Dean's voice had gotten him all riled up. He stormed out of the house without explanation at first, but called her a few minutes later and told her about it, saying he needed a little drive alone.

And that was fine with Melissa; embarking on whatever hunt may be next could wait until tomorrow. She had more than a few leads at that moment, and now she'd have time to decide which to chase first. It was all she could do, now. Hold down the fort for Bobby every now and again and go on her solo hunts. She was always moving, keeping her mind occupied.

She nicked her index finger with the knife as she cut her sandwich diagonally across, immediately bringing it to her mouth and tasting the blood. A breath blew slowly out her nose as she closed her eyes, remembering the taste of the day Dean died.

. . .

" _Sam," she said, her voice raggedy from the screams. It was half past one, and Melissa's eyes were still red, her cheeks puffy. She had a heaviness in her chest that she couldn't describe, but she'd finally managed to drag herself off of the lawn and back into the house, only to find Bobby sitting in the office chair, his head in his hands. And Sam in the same place he'd been an hour before._

 _He had wilted physically, slumped over even more and his voice barely audible as he pleaded for Dean to come back to life. Pleading to go back in time and find another way. But he still sat with Dean's body in his arms. She bit the inside of her cheeks as she heard her own thoughts. It wasn't Dean anymore. It was Dean's_ body _._

 _Neither of them looked up at her as she spoke his name, but she edged closer, the footfalls of her boots sounding a thousand times louder than they really were. She sniffed a little, feeling like she had put on someone else's face and taken someone else's voice. She laid a shaky hand on Sam's shoulder and sighed softly._

" _Sam," she repeated, "It's time to go."_

 _He didn't move._

 _The tears started up again, but for once she didn't feel embarrassed. "Sam," she pleaded, sounding weaker than she had ever remembered. The sound even made Bobby look up. "Please close his eyes."_

 _She took her hand away and put it to her mouth for a minute, trying to bury the sobs. She did, but after a moment. She placed her hand back again on Sam's familiar jacket._

" _Please close his eyes."_

 _He was slow. First, he shut Dean's green eyes forever. It was the finality of it that made him feel sick. Then, he laid his big brother down on the bloody floor. He was beginning to stand up when Melissa spoke again._

" _We should give him a hunter's funeral," she said. He'd gone out like a hero. It was no matter that he hadn't felt like one._

 _But then, he was quick. Sam got up and turned, slapping Melissa only partly by accident as he yelled, "We're not burning him!"_

" _SAM!" Bobby barked, jumping up running from his chair to the youngest Winchester son. But instead of retaliating, Bobby just attacked Sam with a hug, who struggled at first, but eventually gave into his fits of sobbing on his surrogate father's shoulder._

 _Melissa, meanwhile, rocked on her feet stumbled back against the wall at the force of the slap, her hand instantly flying to her cheek. She stared in shock at the men before her. There was a part of her that was deeply offended, and knew she'd never be able to feel the same about Sam. Bobby either. He'd gone for Sam first. Not to check on her, but on Sam. She longed for Dean, knowing what would have happened if he'd been alive to see Sam hit her. And she was on the outside, disbelieving that this was now her life._

 _Still, she understood. She wasn't a son or a father. She wasn't a part of the family. The family that had just been broken. She knew Sam didn't mean it, and she knew Bobby didn't mean it. But she couldn't find it in herself to come join their hug as she tasted the warm, coppery blood in her mouth. She only looked to Dean's forgotten body for guidance she knew she would never find._

 **Author's Note:** Ugh, this was even harder to write than the last one. I'm working currently on the next part of the chapter, so it should be up soon, if not today. I just figured this should be separate. I hope you liked it!

Special thanks to _**x3sunnydaay**_ , _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your reviews! I sincerely hope I didn't make anyone too sad. But, I too have gotten a bit teary writing the last couple chapters.

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought! Thank you for reading!

Peace and love.


	37. Chapter Fifteen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Looks Like Rain"** by The Grateful Dead

\- " **Sweet Melissa"** by The Allman Brothers Band

 **Chapter Fifteen :** Part Two

An ache was forming behind her eyes as she tried to shake the memory off. The kitchen table in front of her was cluttered with newspapers and lore books. She sat with her sandwich atop some half-destroyed mythology book that reminded her of the countless hours of reading when they were trying to find a loophole for Dean's deal. Biting at the skin at the corner of her thumbnail, she wished for a cigarette. But that was the deal. If Bobby wouldn't drink, she wouldn't smoke. It was the only way they could handle living in the same house.

She'd tried so hard with Sam. Harder than she'd ever tried with anyone. But after a few exhaustive hunts, torturing demon after demon, many at the crossroads, Sam disappeared. Slipped out of a motel room one June evening. No note, no trail. Baby was gone. And Melissa was alone. And that's how she'd ended up on Bobby's doorstep, after hitchhiking for a day or two. They got her truck back up and running. For a while she'd tried to find him. But he didn't want to be found.

And she would have gone completely, just like Sam. She would have run away just like she had before. But there was something about the smell of Bobby's house, his familiar trucker hat, and his frequent sass that kept her there. It reminded her that there was good. And she knew what she'd do to herself if she went at it alone. This time she'd probably end up dead. And she didn't wanna face Dean in hell knowing her death had been her own foolish fault. She would go down swinging. So, no smoking and _almost_ no drinking.

It had been a sober summer save for the nights after successful hunts when Melissa went out to a bar or two. Her dark hair done up and her face painted. Men with greased hair or sharp jawlines or mouths that tasted of scotch. Trying to fill the hole inside of her.

. . .

" _Hey, pretty lady," the man drawled as he took the stool next to her. She cleared her throat and hid her uneasiness behind the smoldering of her eyes and the breathiness of her voice. The dress was black and cheap and low cut, both in the back and the front. But it did the trick just fine._

" _Hey sailor," she said, downing her second shot of vodka. She looked over at him in the soft green light of the overhead lamps. It was decently crowded, but she could still hear him over the Southern rock playing. He was tall and dark, his hair falling slightly over his eyes, long on top and cropped short at the sides. His voice was smooth. No gravel. She smiled widely at him._ Perfect _, she thought._

" _You wanna get out of here?" he whispered close to her ear. He smelled of alcohol but didn't seem too wasted._

" _Not into the foreplay, I see?" she asked with a low laugh._

 _His face fell a little but the corners of his mouth never turned down. "Not tonight. My wife ran out on me."_

" _Well, well, well," Melissa turned back to the burly bartender and motioned for the check. "She must be the stupidest woman in the world."_

 _. . ._

 _The motel was grimy and fit her mood perfectly. The man threw his keys on the table and took her leather jacket graciously as they walked in. She smelled the musty age of the place, and saw it in the cracked wooden table and the worn, navy blue carpet. He started to undress in front of her, his suit and tie soon strewn across the floor. As he stood in the nude, she smirked, then kicked off her back heels and began to unzip the dress. But she almost forgot. She stopped halfway and let out a long breath as she took the leather cord from her neck and strolled over to the coat rack. She made sure the small gold face was safe inside the pocket of her leather._

 _The dress fell around her ankles and she stepped out of it quietly as he watched her._

" _What was that necklace about?" he asked. She saw his age in the harsh lighting. He was older than her. At least 35. But she didn't care. As long as he didn't wear flannel._

" _Don't ask questions you don't need to know the answers to," she shot back. She took the barrett from her hair and threw it aside carelessly and shook out her head. She came forward and kissed him with all the force she had in her before he would respond, hoping they would both forget their lives for a moment. They ended up on the bed soon after. Her hands were at her hips, ready to pull her underwear down as she straddled him, when he spoke again._

" _What's your name?" he asked, his lips stained slightly red with her lipstick._

" _Rose," she replied. He noticed that the alcohol must've been taking effect on him now. HIs words were starting to run together._

 _Then, he did something she didn't expect. He took her face in his hands and hummed a little. "Rosie," he mused._

 _But this time the gesture didn't make her shiver as it had that night Dean got drunk off that vodka. Her stomach did a flip and she sat in shock for a moment before she quickly dismounted him and hopped off the bed, pulling her dress back on shakily. She didn't even bother with the zipper, leaving the tattoo on her back exposed._

" _Hey, where ya goin'?" the man asked drowsily from the bed, not bothering to get up._

" _Oh, sleep it off, asshole. Maybe call your wife in the morning," she hissed at him as she pulled on her shoes and tucked her hair behind her ears._

" _Come on, Rosie, don't you wanna piece of this?" he smirked at her sloppily._

" _Can I tell you a secret, no name?" she asked with a wicked smile as she donned her leather and took out the necklace once again. "That ain't my name."_

 _She shut the door loudly behind her and managed not to cry at all on her mile walk back to the bar. She made it until she got back to the truck, a familiar track playing through the speakers. Jerry Garcia's voice destroyed the wall she'd put up and she sobbed silently against her steering wheel. The night sky above began to darken even more. It surely did look like rain._

. . .

Bobby didn't know about the men. But, she knew they were what smoking had been replaced with. They all meant nothing, anyway. And if Dean was dead, she knew she had to move on somehow. Maybe it was a good stepping stone. Though in the mornings, when she would slip out of the motel rooms quietly, her makeup looking much messier in the clear morning sunlight, she felt just like she had in her teenage years. Once a junkie, always a junkie. It was something she thought about often about. It didn't always have to be drugs.

A knock at the door surprised her. She nearly jumped out of skin as she came back to reality, her untouched grilled cheese now cold and the clock still ticking. But she'd been too inside her head to notice. She got up from the table tiredly, rubbing at her eyes. Blasts from the past often made her tired. The second knock was more urgent, though, and her hand immediately went to the silver knife in the waistband of her jeans. Her eyes flicked to the coffee table in the living room as she past it. There her flare gun and her shotgun laid, but she decided not to jump to conclusions. The month of hunting demons with Sam had instilled even more paranoia in her than she already had.

She bit her lip as she opened it, expecting another pie or something from one of Bobby's perky neighbors. But instead, she was met with a phantom of the past. It was Dean. And she remembered his clothes. She saw them every night in her dreams, thinking back to the night he died.

"Surprise," he said. It was his voice. It was really his voice. He smiled at her cautiously. He seemed a little out of breath, but nothing else seemed wrong. His guts had been replaced, it seemed.

Her mouth hung open and she didn't say a word. She blinked her glassy eyes at him. "You're not...I don't…"

He smirked at her stammering and brushed past her slowly, pouring his weary eyes over the familiar sights of Bobby's house. "Yeah, I don't either," he finished for her. "But here I am."

She narrowed his eyes at him, watching his back as he stepped further into the house. As fast as she could, she reach up and locked her arm around his neck, holding the knife over his jugular vein. Dean coughed in surprise, but didn't struggle too much.

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded coldly in his ear.

"Missy! It's me!" he yelled in a strained voice. But hell had made him stronger. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, turning back to her and holding his grip. She slapped him harshly with her other hand and backed away.

"My ass, it's you!" she shouted back at him.

Fake Dean stepped behind the couch, hoping to create some distance between the two of them. He knew not to mess around with that kind of fire in her eyes. He'd have to prove it to her first.

"Your name is Melissa Jane Lowry. You became a hunter after the ghost of your little sister killed your boyfriend, Allen…" he paused for a minute, searching his mind for something truly only he could know. Hunters were a gossipy bunch, and origin stories were not often off the table. "And...you've got a birthmark shaped like a cloud on your ass! Missy. It's me."

His last words were pleading, and he saw her face soften as he stepped back out from behind the couch and she got closer to him. They were an arm's length away from each other. Melissa put a soft hand on his shoulder, and he was just about ready to smile when she lunged at him with the knife. He took it from her quickly, guessing this all too close to homeness was making her a little slowly. She backed away from him again with wild eyes.

"I'm not a shapeshifter!"

"Then you're a revenant!" she insisted, glancing over at the coffee table. Fake Dean was too in her way at the moment for her to try for the guns.

He sighed, then began rolling up his sleeve. "Alright...if I was either of those, could I do this-with a silver knife?"

He slowly dragged the knife across the flesh of his forearm, creating a thin red line. He grimaced at it but looked back up at her expectantly.

"Dean?" she managed.

He nodded and lowered the knife. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

It took only a moment for her to get over to him and throw her arms around his neck. He could feel her heart pounding in her ribs and smiled into her hair.

"It's good to see you, darlin,'" he whispered huskily.

"You too," she said with a teary smile, pulling away from him too see his face again. She kept her hands on the sleeves of his red flannel as she finally saw his face again. It had been only four months, but it felt like forever. She almost felt like she couldn't breathe from happiness. She knew it was too good to be true, but she ignored it for just a minute. She just needed a minute of being his again.

He stared into her icy eyes and kept his small smile. It had been the first time since hell someone had touched him out of love instead of hate. She ran her hand through his hair behind his ear and he shivered, looking down and letting happy, weary tears fall. Melissa wiped them away with her thin finger and he grabbed her around the waist again, needing to hold onto her desperately, needing to hold onto her for forever. They stood like that for a long time; minutes past with neither of them moving, only relishing in the closeness.

It was Melissa who pulled away once again. Her eyes were watery but she didn't cry. "But, how'd you bust out?" She put her hands in her back pockets and furrowed her brows.

"I don't know...just woke up in a pine box," he said, gazing again at the stacks of lore books and the drab wallpaper. Suddenly, Melissa splashed what he instantly knew was holy water in his face. He spit it out to the side and looked back at her dejectedly.

"I'm not a demon, either, y'know?" he deadpanned.

She smirked mischievously. "Better to be safe than sorry, ain't it, Winchester?"

 **Author's Note:** Alright, that's what I've got for you today. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	38. Chapter Fifteen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Fade To Black"** by Metallica

 **Chapter Fifteen** **:** Part Three

After a fair amount of convincing (and Dean having to cut himself with the silver knife _again_ ), they'd finally managed to convince Bobby that Dean was Dean. But there hadn't been much time for celebration. Sam was the next Winchester to worry about. They managed to track his cellphone and promptly began to head his way; they would be in Pontiac, Illinois by midnight. Bobby had opted to take his own car, but only following an argument between he and Melissa about who got to drive. Dean had noticed a tension between the two of them he couldn't describe, but said nothing. So, as the sun was setting on a lonely highway, Melissa led the caravan, a slight breeze slipping warmly through the cracked window and Dean's hand on her knee. She felt like she was in a dream.

"Are you real, Dean?" she asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence and wondering how soon she would wake up.

He chuckled a little and a rubbed a hand down her arm, sighing softly at the familiar rumbling cough of the truck's engine and memories of the day they first met. "'Course I am, Missy."

He brought a hand to her cheek and she closed her eyes for only a moment, letting a tear slip down onto his fingers. She had been expecting it to feel the way it had when he was a ghost in the hospital after the car wreck, but his hands were rough and warm.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's alright."

Breathing out slowly, she shook her head a little and gave a broken laugh. There was a beat of silence as Dean took Melissa's right hand in his own, and she bit her lip as she watched the road.

She cleared her throat, asking an even scarier question. "Do you remember?"

"What? Hell?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, the Titans. _Yes_ , hell."

He sighed and looked out the window to the passing scenery, not believing that soon the leaves would change. That he'd lost a whole summer. "No," he said huskily. "Not a thing."

The truck continued to jiggle down the highway, the sky mixing blue and pink, as Melissa squeezed his hand tightly. He knew that she knew he was lying, she could read him too well, but neither of them acknowledged it. For now, just being close to each other was enough.

"So...Sam...what happened?" he asked. Melissa took her hand away and ran her hand through her hair, clenching the steering wheel. Dean furrowed his brows.

"I already told you...he was just...gone."

. . .

 _Dim lights never did suit after-hunt injuries, and Melissa grimaced as she cleaned herself up in the yellow hue of the bathroom. She had an ugly, bruised gash across her eyebrow and her cheeks were smudged with dirt. Sam had been little help with anything lately, so it seemed like she would have to stitch herself up alone tonight. She looked around for a moment and then felt silly; there wouldn't be any whiskey in the bathroom. She heaved a sigh and went back into the room, missing the sight of Dean's leather jacket hung up or his boots placed haphazardly at the foot of the bed. Sam was too neat. Sometimes she missed a little mess._

 _She went straight for the top of the fridge, taking a swig of the Jack Daniels. It burned her throat but sat warmly in her stomach, and she smiled at the feeling as she took another sip before looking up as Sam stormed through the door, both their bags over one shoulder and his boots unlaced._

" _Here, let me help you," she said quietly, stumbling a bit over her words and her feet, the whiskey sloshing around in its bottle. It had been a very long day._

" _Don't bother," he replied, throwing them down on the lumpy bed a little ways across the room. He glanced up at her as he sat down. "Gonna finish that whole fifth, Dean?"_

 _She looked down at the bottle in her bloodied hands and groaned. She slammed it down on the rickety kitchen table beside her and rubbed at her temples, closing her eyes and ignoring the pains in her joints and her wound._

" _Sammy, can we_ please _not do this tonight," she growled tiredly._

" _Don't call me that," he snapped, standing up and grimacing slightly at his strained muscles._

 _He stepped close, towering over her._

" _What are ya gonna do, Sam? Hit me?" she tempted viciously. Things hadn't been the same between them since the night Dean bit it._

 _He stayed silent, clenching his jaw._

" _Thought so. Can't do anything without your big brother here to protect you, can ya?" she scoffed. At this point, her filter was pretty much gone._

" _I can't believe I thought you were family," he shot back coldly, his eyes calm._

 _She turned around with her face set in anger, breathing heavily and unsure what to do. So, in true dysfunctional hunter fashion, she grabbed the whiskey, went over to the sink, and smashed the bottle onto the already cracked porcelain. The thick glass shattered immediately with her force. She had a lot of tension to blow these days._

" _Hey!" Sam yelled at her outburst. But, she didn't look at him as she rushed back into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard that the windows shook._

 _Sam merely sighed and sat back down at the foot of his bed. These fights were happening almost nightly now, and they almost always ended with one of them storming off._

 _All she was to him now was a reminder of Dean. She wasn't Melissa anymore. She was a ghost. She wore his necklace and laughed in the face of danger instead of cowered. When Dean was alive, they had seemed so different to him, but now that his brother was gone, they were exactly the same. He could hardly look at her without seeing Dean. He couldn't take it anymore._

 _So, that night, as Melissa tossed and turned and occasionally muttered his brother's name, Sam slipped out into the night before his brother's memory could slow him down from saving him any longer._

. . .

A pit of anxiety churned in Melissa's stomach as they approached the sleazy motel door. She hadn't seen Sam since the night he left. She didn't know what shape he'd be in, considering how he'd been the last time she'd seen him. She bit at her lips and ran hands through her hair, unable to quiet her nerves or hide her tells. Dean noticed, ran a hand down the arm of her leather, and gave her that same old smile. She returned it halfheartedly, still thinking she might wake up at any point. Bobby knocked on the door loudly and they waited for the moment of truth.

The door opened to reveal a short young woman, dressed in only a tank top and panties. "So…" she raised her eyebrows expectantly, "where is it?"

"Where's what?" Dean spoke up as the three of them looked between each other, confused.

"The pizza," the woman said. "It takes three people to deliver now?"

Dean smiled at her awkwardly. "I think we got the wrong room."

"Hey, is…" Sam started, walking into the light of the doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he laid his eyes on Dean.

"Hiya, Sammy," Dean said quietly, his eyes watery and his smile unwavering. The young woman stepped aside to let them in, Dean not giving her a glance. Bobby and Melissa followed.

Dean stepped toward his little brother happily, but as soon as he got close Sam lunged with a knife. Dean almost rolled his eyes. It was the third time in 24 hours this had happened to him. But instead, he jumped back and Melissa went in front of him, blocking the attack. Bobby managed to get behind Sam and grab him by the shoulders to restrain him.

"Who are you?!" Sam yelled to Dean.

"Like you didn't do this?!" Dean countered. Melissa didn't know what to think, judging by the fact that when Sam had left three months ago they'd had exactly zero pieces of evidence in finding Lillith. And Melissa knew the crossroads demons weren't talking. She'd known that since the night they buried Dean.

 _. . ._

 _She wiped the red dirt from her palms onto her denim-clad thighs as she stepped back from the hole in the crossroads. Her skin was glistening with sweat in the June moonlight._

" _Come and get me y'all!" she screamed up at the starless sky, only yellowing grass and gravel below her feet. Her truck was parked a few yards behind her. "Black-eyed bastards!"_

 _She was met with only the chirping of the crickets at first, until a smooth, dark voice came from behind her."Well, well, well, if it isn't Bitchlissa Lowry."_

 _She smirked and turned to face the demon, a tall woman with black stilettos and bleach-blonde hair._

" _Is that really the best you can do?" Melissa slurred, not bothering to wipe away what seemed like perpetual tears wetting her cheeks._

" _So…" the demon ignored her. "What can I do for you?"_

" _Don't play dumb," Melissa answered._

" _Ahh, yes…" the demon spoke as she circled around Melissa, who tugged at the sleeves of Dean's red flannel. "That boot-wearing ape you think you love. To be honest, I never really saw it."_

"Please _, will you just cut the crap? Let's make the swap," Melissa urged her, trying her best for it not to sound like a plea. She didn't beg for demons, but this was making her get very close._

" _Sweetheart-"_

" _Don't call me that."_

" _As much as I would love to drag your sorry ass down to hell with me-I mean,_ the _Melissa Lowry?-I can't. Payroll won't allow it."_

. . .

"It's him! It's him," Bobby insisted. "Sam, we've been through this already. It's _really_ him."

Slowly, very slowly, Sam stopped struggling, and his face fell. His eyes never left Dean, who took a few steps out from behind Melissa towards his little brother.

"I know," he said, "I look fantastic."

Bobby finally let Sam free of his grasp and the brothers took each other in a desperate hug. Melissa let her face be split in a wide smile as she watched them, trying to blink the glassiness from her eyes. It was moments like these when she was amazed by their love, and her heart ached for Rosie.

"So," the petite young woman spoke up from the corner by the door. "You guys are like...together?"

Melissa cleared her throat and almost giggled at the question. Everyone had forgotten the woman was in the room for the intimate moment.

"What?" Sam said, pulling away from Dean. "No. No. He's my brother."

The woman clicked her tongue and nodded slowly. "Well then, I should probably go."

"Uh...yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Sam said to the woman as she quickly dressed. He put on a button-down of his own and led her to the door as the other three watched awkwardly.

Melissa was more than surprised. She was expecting either hardened hunter or drunken mess, not, well, a copy of Dean. Wasn't that why he'd left her in the first place?

"So," she heard the woman from the doorway. "Call me."

"Yeah, sure, Kathy," Sam lied through his teeth.

"Kristy," she corrected with disappointment.

Once Sam had shut the door in her face he turned back to the other hunters, pointedly avoiding Melissa's eyes. He wondered if she'd told Bobby what really happened. He sat down on the scratchy comforter of the bed, Bobby and Dean looming over him with suspicion. Melissa sat down on the leather couch, biting her lips.

"So, tell me," Dean glared at his brother, "What'd it cost?"

Sam smiled. "What? The girl? I don't pay, Dean."

"That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back," Dean accused. "What'd it cost? Your soul or was it something worse?"

Melissa shifted uncomfortably in her spot, remembering the flashing red eyes of the crossroads demon.

"You think I made a deal?" Sam asked.

"That's exactly what we think," Bobby replied. Melissa hadn't voiced her doubts. The only one who knew she'd gone to make a deal was Sam.

"Well, I didn't."

"Don't lie to me," Dean said, stepping closer to Sam.

"I'm not lying."

"So, what now?" Dean asked. "I'm off the hook, and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't wanna be saved like this."

Sam stood up quickly and Melissa flinched at seeing it from the corner of her eye. She could take down a whole pack of vampires alone, but sometimes Sam Winchester scared her a little more. Hell, sometimes Dean did too.

"Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, alright?" Sam shouted.

Dean grabbed Sam by the collar. "There's no other way this could've gone down! Now, tell the truth!"

Sam pushed his older brother off of him and his face burned red with anger and memory. "I tried everything. That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, alright? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months...and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me. Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment but finally he stepped back and softened his gaze. "It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize. I believe you."

"Don't get me wrong," Bobby said from his place near Melissa, "I'm glad Sam's soul is still intact, but that does raise a sticky question."

"If he didn't pull me out," Dean spoke the words plaguing everyone else's mind, "then, what did?"

 **Author's Note:** Hello, hello! I took a little break but now I'm happily back. I hope everyone is excited for the new year and for the continuation of this story. I know I am!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! More soon.

A special thanks to _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , _**LoveFiction2017**_ , _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your wonderful reviews! They mean so much and they are greatly appreciated. Sorry this chapter took so long, but I've got the next few installments all planned out, so never fear!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought.

Peace and love.


	39. Chapter Fifteen: Part Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Here Comes The Sun"** by The Beatles

\- " **Like A Hurricane"** by Neil Young

\- " **Gloria"** by Patti Smith

 **Chapter** **Fifteen** **:** Part Four

On the four hour drive, through the early hours of the morning and into daylight, Melissa was alone. Alone in her rickety truck once again, just as she had been for the majority of the summer. But still, she smiled. Dean was back driving his Baby. She hoped that it would feel as though nothing had changed, but it certainly had. For the most part, things seemed alright with Dean, if not a little quiet and distant, or something of the like. But she had no idea what to do about Sam. Something was off, even apart from the whole relationship-destroying fight they'd had, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

She breathed in the crisp air and hummed along to her upbeat Beatles album. She hadn't slept in about 24 hours, but she didn't seem to mind. She would have called what she was feeling joy if she didn't know any better. Now was no time to jump the gun.

The house of Pamela Barnes was comfortable and cozy. Melissa was the first to arrive, sighing contentedly at the sight of it. It had been a couple of years, but she went almost as far back with Pamela as she did with Bobby. Her smile was wide as she bounded up the front stoop, her boots tapping happily on the faded wood. She knocked on the door as she admired the old wind chimes and knick-knacks that decorated the porch.

"Melissa!" Pamela greeted as soon as she opened the door, enveloping the woman in a warm hug. "How ya been, honey?"

They pulled away from each other. "Well, I've been…" Melissa started, trailing off, but her smile was constant.

Pamela tucked a piece of hair behind the younger girl's ear in a motherly way. "Yeah, I figured. How about a beer? Should fix you right up."

. . .

"Oh, he is _good_ ," Melissa giggled, pausing to taking another sip of the ale. She'd been there only about ten minutes, but it had taken just a couple before they started hashing out their love lives. The last time they'd seen each other, Melissa had only met up with the Winchesters a handful of times. "Believe me, he's very good."

Pamela laughed heartily in return. "That don't surprise me at all. Those muscles you told me about?"

"No, it's not even that," Melissa shook her head and look down at her thin hands, smiling softly. "I thought he'd be rough or crazy or something, but really, the first time, I knew it wasn't like that. It was like...I was made of glass."

Pamela rolled her eyes and mocked Melissa with a dreamy sigh.

"Oh, shut up," Melissa retorted playfully.

"So, Winchester's goin' soft, huh?" Pamela asked. She'd never met the Winchesters, but had heard more than enough about them through the grapevine, not just from Melissa.

Melissa shrugged in response. "Maybe he was always soft. You just can't tell from the outside. Just...no one's ever treated me like that bef-"

She was interrupted by a knock on the door, to which Pamela then led the way. Melissa admired how open the house felt. Sometimes, at Bobby's, she could feel suffocated, no matter how comfortable it was. It was something about the light shining through the windows and the little ferns and flowers peppering the house that made it feel welcoming. Even made it feel a little normal.

"Hey, Bobby!" she heard Pamela exclaim, snapping her out of her distraction, looking to the door to find Bobby and the Winchesters had stayed together in their caravan. Melissa figured that with all the excitement and exhaustion, she may have been speeding even more than Dean would have.

Pamela lifted Bobby off the ground slightly in their affectionate hug and then released him. Sam and Dean shared a cautious look. Melissa laughed as she finished off her beer.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Bobby returned with a tired smile. He stepped back a little, revealing the Winchesters more wholly.

"So, these the boys?" Pamela asked with a smirk, her eyebrows raised. Bobby nodded.

"Sam, Dean, this is Pamela Barnes," the older man introduced. "The best damn psychic in the state."

"Hey," Dean said nonchalantly, looking back to Missy instead. He couldn't take her eyes off her since he got back. In all honesty, he thought she would be the one to run away after everything that happened. It impressed him immensely that she'd managed to stay. Even if she didn't protect Sam so well in the process. He smirked a little as she blushed under his gaze, glancing down at the empty bottle in her hand for a moment and mouthing a "what?" at him.

He only shrugged in response, hearing Sam greet the psychic in his normal, awkward way from beside him. He was snapped out of it when he heard Pamela speak his name.

"Mmmm, mmm, mmm, Dean Winchester," she looked him up and down once more. "Out of the fire and back in the frying pan. Makes you a rare individual."

Again, he only shrugged. "If you say so."

As Pamela led the rest of the crew into the house, they decided on a séance to see who exactly it was that broke Dean out. They made their way into the kitchen and set up the materials, Pamela quickly replacing the ouija board on the table with a black tablecloth and tall, white candles. Melissa felt a hand on the small of her back and turned to see Dean. He took her and kissed her by surprise. It was short and sweet, and no one in the room besides Sam noticed, but both came away beaming.

"Have I kissed you yet?" Dean asked her quietly, his green eyes shiny.

"No," Melissa whispered. "Must've forgot. Have _I_ kissed _you_ yet?"

Dean only shook his head and stayed smiling. Melissa nodded at him and pulled away, going to help Pamela gather the rest of the supplies. Sam chuckled as his brother eyed after Melissa, specifically at the way her jeans hugged her hips. But, Sam couldn't manage a full smile at the sight of Dean. Sure, he was beyond happy that his brother was back. But it had been months. Dean hadn't seen all of the things that happened while he was gone.

He couldn't believe how close he'd gotten to telling his brother the truth in the car on the way over. Dean could tell he was hiding something. He prodded at the psychic thing, but eventually they were able to move past it when Sam gave it up about what had happened with Melissa. He figured that's why he'd caught her in the kiss that way, or couldn't stop staring at her. And why Dean was avoiding his gaze now, and why the rest of the car ride after this confession had been mostly silent. But, Sam had not just told him about the hitting her or the final fight, but those two or three weeks between when Dean was buried and when he and Melissa parted ways. He wondered if it was then that he met the Melissa she'd been after she ran from them. After he'd died. The lonely Melissa. The heartbroken Melissa.

. . .

 _Sam came to just as Melissa plunged the knife into the throat of the last demon. He could taste the blood in his mouth and could barely see out of one his eyes, but otherwise it wasn't so bad. It was a whole group of demons up in Rhode Island, and they hadn't been quite ready for it when they'd found them. Turns out, the sweet old lady who lived next door to the dead family, of which the father was a hunter, was the leader. She'd seemed so innocuous at the interview. Even served cookies._

 _And, beyond the fact that they'd gotten the better of Sam, almost all the demons taunted them about was Dean. How he was screaming down there as they spoke. It took Sam a minute to realize that Melissa was still stabbing at the demon after it had fallen onto the polished kitchen floor of the white suburban._

" _Mel!" he yelled, standing up from the corner by the china cabinet slowly. She ignored him._

" _Hey! You can stop!" he continued, hearing her begin to grunt and yell with each plunge of the weapon._

" _You know what they say Sam," she panted emotionlessly as she kept on going to town on the demon. "Gotta kill a demon five times over."_

" _Who says that?" he asked urgently and angrily. They had to leave before the cops arrived. It had been a loud hunt, and in a neighborhood like that the HOA would've been all over the commotion._

 _She sighed with a final blow and stood up, her face drawn in a vicious half-smile. "I do."_

 _She faced him, her skin shiny and splattered with blood, her hair messy and falling out of her braid, and her eyes alight with nothing but fire. Sam had never seen such rage from her before. Not even the night Dean died. That was greif. This was something else._

 _He gave her a disapproving look, then pointed over to picture frame on the end table by the expensive sofa. It showed young smiles with teeth missing and laughing faces. "She had grandchildren."_

" _And I had a sister. Things change," she replied, sauntering away from him and towards the front door, absentmindedly wiping the blood from the knife onto the sleeve of her jacket in the process._

. . .

Melissa had not seen things take a quicker turn for the worst in a long while. Whatever this Castiel who had broken Dean from hell was, it had burned Pamela's eyes straight out of her skull. She was in the ICU recovering, and the brothers and Melissa were up on the second floor of the Astoria Motel feeling about as much guilt as a person can possibly feel. Bobby was still sitting with Pamela up at St. Bonaventure's. Books were open to research, but they were all mostly just skimming. Not many words were spoken. Melissa could still hear Pamela's screams echoing in her ears.

Eventually, Sam dozed off from his place on the couch, and Melissa and Dean were left alone together on the pull-out bed. Like two kids hiding from adults, they'd stopped research as soon as Sam was out. Melissa's head lay on Dean's chest as his fingers tangled through her hair. She could hear and feel his heartbeat, his breathing. He was all there.

"Hey, I...uh-I know what happened with Sam," Dean said in his husky voice, breaking the silence.

She sighed and kissed his shoulder before laying her head back down, grabbing his other hand. She felt like she couldn't stop touching him. "Yeah? What do you know?"

"That he hit you after…" Dean said, then had to clear his throat before he continued. "And what he said before he left. He's...he's really sorry. You're gonna have to make up at some point, right?"

He left out the other things he'd heard.

Melissa nodded softly. "I know. I was never very mad. Dean...it was really bad when you were gone."

"Don't I know it," he replied with a groan, making Melissa's sleepy heart ache just a little more.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," he whispered, taking his hand from her own and rubbing his eyes. She nodded again.

"Okay," she said solemnly. Dean yawned, and she followed suit.

"Typhoid Mary, huh?" Dean chuckled a little. She could feel it rumbling in his chest.

"That you are," she said, beginning to doze. The lights were on but it was pitch black outside, only a few city noises filling the silence. Both of them still had their clothes and boots on, too exhausted to shower or undress. It had been a few minutes, Melissa right on the edge of sleep, when Dean spoke again.

"Missy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, gorgeous," she slurred as she drifted off again. Dean smiled as he shut his own eyes and felt himself falling into dreams; he'd waited about forty years to tell her that again.

. . .

Something a little more high-pitched than nails on a chalkboard knocked her right out of her dreamless sleep. Immediately, hardly opening her eyes and not adjusting to the light, she went for the gun on the bedside table, then looked back at Dean, who was rolling out of bed to retrieve his own weapon. He looked at her with frantic eyes as the noise got louder and louder. Melissa felt like her brains were being scrambled and in a way it made her feel a little nauseous. She finally had to drop her weapon and put her hands to her ears, looking to the couch to find Sam gone. She started to scream, not even comprehending her surroundings and feeling unsure of what else to do. Somehow, over all the noise, she heard the mirror above the bed in their sleazy motel crack.

Instantly, her eyes went to Dean, who was in his own agony but, unlike her, was still underneath the ceiling of glass. She ran over and threw herself on top of him, both of them toppling onto the floor right out of the way just as the mirror shattered. Little cuts peppered Melissa's cheeks and exposed arms as she received most of the blows and the windows also shattered. Dean was now trying his best to shield her, screaming with his eyes clamped shut. She thought she heard more glass shattering and her name being called as she felt them being pulled up by strong arms.

And then, all at once, it stopped. And Bobby stood bewildered before them.

. . .

They slipped out of the motel room as quietly as possible, and finally made it to the cars. Apparently, Sam had taken the Impala. As they stood leaned up against the remaining two vehicles on the side of the road, the night air slightly humid, Dean tried his best to figure out where the hell his little brother was. Melissa was still using a dirty washcloth from the floor of the truck to try and stop the bleeding as Dean spoke through the phone.

"Well, uh, Bobby's back, I think we're all gonna go grab a beer," he lied. Melissa furrowed her brows at him, not having the energy to take the few steps over and put a warning hand on his shoulder like Bobby did.

Dean only put one finger up to them and continued his conversation. "Done. Uh, catch you later."

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby barked as the older Winchester hung up.

"Because he'd just tried to stop us," he explained, leaning against the truck with Melissa. Wordlessly, he grabbed the rag from her hand and began dabbing at her cuts himself, grimacing with guilt. It was all his fault, and she'd gotten the worst of it. She huffed at his babying her, but made little physical effort to protest.

"Stop us from what?" Bobby asked in exasperation. Sometimes the boys were just too damn cryptic for him.

"Summoning this thing. It's time we faced this head-on," Dean said, recalling a similar incident with the noise at the gas station when he'd first dug himself out of his grave.

"You can't be serious," Melissa scoffed at him.

"As a heart attack," he replied. "It's high noon, baby."

. . .

"Are you sure you're good?" Dean asked Melissa as they laid out the weapons on the table in the warehouse, examining her cuts once again. Bobby was in charge of warding the place, and they were starting to get a little high off the fumes from the spray paint.

"Yes, Dean, for the last damn time, I'm _fine_ ," she snapped. "I did plenty fine without you here to take care of me, I'll still so plenty fine now that you're back."

Dean recoiled at her outburst and said nothing, looking back down at the massive array of weapons. Melissa sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked over at him and her face fell as she caught a glimpse of the handprint burned in his upper arm peeking out from the edge of his t-shirt sleeve.

"I'm sorry. Just...tired."

"I know," he said, pulling her over to him by the waist and kissing the top of her head. "It's alright. Don't worry. I'm sure we're not far from breaking the bed at whatever motel we stay at after this," he winked at her.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Asshat."

"Would y'all two quit flirting and get finished up?" Bobby said as he walked over to them, his voice slightly ragged.

"Alright, alright," Melissa said, then giving Dean a teasing kiss on the cheek anyway. "You ready?"

Bobby shot her a look and nodded. As usual, he spoke some words in Latin and made something in a silver bowl light up. But then, they waited. And waited. And eventually, all three of them were sat on an abandoned kitchen table, their legs dangling boredly underneath.

"Are you sure you did the ritual right?" Dean asked Bobby in the midst of the silence.

Bobby glared at Dean and said nothing in response.

"Sorry," Dean said innocently. "Touchy, touchy, huh?"

All of a sudden, a loud rattling shook the walls and ceiling of the warehouse. The hunters sprung into action, grabbing their weapons and backing to the far end of the place. The lighting in there was harsh, and Melissa let her eyes roam over the countless symbols painted in red on the walls in an attempt to keep herself calm. Over the past few months, she'd begun to feel like she had nothing to lose, which made hunts far easier and require less thinking. But now Dean was back. And the fear was back. And whatever was coming could burn peoples' eyes out.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean quipped from beside her. None of them smiled. Melissa's heart pounded in her chest. She definitely had not missed this feeling.

The doors of the warehouse burst open, revealing a tall man with a trenchcoat and a blue tie. He stalked towards them, the lights above him burning out and leaving sparks as he went. The three of them all shot at the man, no bullets missing. But the silver didn't stop him. He didn't waver even a little. Dean took out the demon knife from his waistband as the man approached.

"Who are you?" he yelled, raising the weapon. Melissa was still shooting, but Bobby only stood, ready for fixing the other two's mistakes.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," the man said, stopping as he came almost nose-to-nose with Dean. It was only then that Melissa lowered the gun.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Dean said with a smirk as he plunged the knife straight into the man's chest. The man didn't flinch at all, instead pulling the piece of metal out with ease. Bobby attempted an attack on the man from behind, but the man only turned around quickly, grabbing Bobby's gun, and touching him with two fingers to the forehead.

Bobby passed out immediately. Melissa's eyes widened.

"We need to talk, Dean," the man said in his rough voice. He turned to stare straight at Melissa. "Alone."

Dean stepped in front of her. "No."

But, the man vanished in a moment. He reappeared behind the two, reaching around to Melissa's forehead and pulling the same trick. Dean barely managed to catch her as she was knocked out cold.

 **Author's Note:** Yay, another chapter! The last chapter of 2017! I don't know about all of you, but I am definitely ready for this year to be over. Also, Cas is here!

I hope you enjoyed this installment and thank you so much for reading!

Special thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your wonderful reviews. They always make me smile, or laugh in the case of _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ ' reviews!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	40. Chapter Fifteen: Part Five

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 _-_ **"Hey Bulldog"** by The Beatles

\- **"It's All Over Now"** by The Rolling Stones

 **Chapter Fifteen** **:** Part Five

In the midst of an argument about whether this Castiel Dean had spoken to was really an angel, as the trenchcoated man had claimed, the last thing Melissa expected him to do was to try and resolve things between her and Sam. They hadn't really spoken yet. Come to think of it, Dean was giving Sam the silent treatment except on matters of angels. It was odd and uncomfortable. But Melissa didn't really know what else to expect in a situation like this. She also hadn't thought Sam would tell Dean about what happened so quickly after he returned. It was mid-afternoon at Bobby's and Melissa and Dean sat on the couch denying the angel thing from both Sam and Bobby. They'd all been researching for hours and tensions were a little high. Dean was beginning to relent after awhile, but Melissa stayed solid. Angels were not real.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon," Dean offered. "Demons lie."

"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devils traps...oh, and Ruby's knife?" Sam said.

"Don't you think that if angels were real, some hunter, at some point, would have seen one already?" Dean asked in exasperation, running a hand through his hair.

"You just did, Dean," Sam replied smugly.

"Sam, why the fuck are you so hellbent on this angel thing? When did you get all choirboy? When has anything ever gone right for any of us, huh? And now all of a sudden, you think some angel is just gonna waltz in and save us all? Get, real, college boy," Melissa spat out, her face slightly red and her hands clasped in front of her, her elbows leaning on the knees of her jeans. Just like all those years ago, matters of religion on hunts never sat well with her. She couldn't mix her past life with the present.

The other three stared at her for a moment. By the end she'd practically been yelling. But beside her, Dean sighed. He just got back and already everyone was fighting. Because of him. Because of the deal he'd made.

"Alright, y'know what?" he announced, standing up and looking to Melissa. "I'm sick of this. Missy, you need to hit Sam."

"What?" she asked in frustration, her eyes widening.

Sam, however, nodded. He was wondering when Dean was going to do something like this. He thought back to the car ride when he'd told Dean everything. Well, not everything, just enough to get his brother to stop asking questions.

. . .

" _Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled, hitting the steering wheel as Bobby led them to Pamela's house. "Please tell me I just heard you wrong…"_

" _I'm sorry, Dean," he said in shame, looking down at his hands. "I didn't mean to...I wish I could take it back."_

" _You hit Melissa? Not even a thought really, and you hit her? Right after everyone had to watch me die?" Dean asked, his face growing redder by the word. "And then, you left her alone in the middle of nowhere, without a car?!"_

" _Yeah," Sam replied simply. By that point, it had been about three and a half hours of driving. Sam knew they were close. He was very glad he'd started off with the part about how_ Melissa _had been going crazy after Dean died._

" _I don't even know you anymore," was all Dean said after that. The last half hour of the car ride was silent, Dean's jaw clenched and his knuckles white as Sam looked awkwardly out at the late summer scenery._

. . .

"I'm not doing that," Melissa repeated. All their eyes were on her, and her words were faltering under their gaze.

"Yes, you are, Missy," Dean commanded. "We wanna get to the bottom of this thing, right? And I don't know about you guys, but to me this feels like one bad mother. So, we all gotta be on the same page. Best way to do that? An eye for an eye."

"Only makes the whole world blind," Melissa finished the saying for him. Dean rolled his eyes.

She looked between all of them, and even Bobby seemed complacent. "You're really okay with this?" she asked the older hunter angrily.

He shrugged. Melissa scoffed at how he too had so little feeling while Dean was gone, save for worry. He seemed to be having a harder time getting all his mojo back.

"If it clears the air...it ain't the worst plan I've ever heard," Bobby said from his desk chair.

Slowly, she stood, looking apprehensive. Dean noticed Sam standing too, and how Melissa didn't ask his little brother his opinion on the matter. He knew then that it was the best call. The two stood in front of each other, something unspoken lingering between them.

"Ready?" Melissa asked.

Sam nodded.

It felt like a split second before Sam was on the ground unconscious. She hadn't really meant to, but she put all of her force into that one punch. All the feelings when she'd woken up in that motel room alone and without a car. All the feelings from that night when Dean was ripped to shreds. And all the feelings from when she kept telling herself she wasn't mad at him, that he'd lost a brother. But she'd lost something too, and he hadn't seemed to care very much.

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed, standing up and rushing over to the younger Winchester.

Dean watched, standing over Sam as Bobby tended to him. And actually, he did feel better. There were other things to work out with Sam, but that had been at the forefront of Dean's mind ever since he found out. He looked beside him but found Melissa gone. Once he saw Sam waking up again, he began to wander through the old house, calling for her. But, when he reached the front door, he stopped, suddenly knowing exactly where he'd find her.

She sat with her elbows on her knees, boots on the bottom step of the porch. She stared out at the salvage yard, marveling at the fact Bobby had been without hunting so long before his wife died that he'd had time to start a business. Maybe that made it worse. Bobby was the only one out of them who had known true, real happiness before his time on the job.

"Hey," she heard Dean as he sat down beside her.

"I didn't mean to do that," she responded immediately.

"It's okay," Dean told her. "He deserved it."

"No, he didn't," Melissa said quietly. "He'd just lost his brother. What else was he gonna do?" But still, she thought back to the way he hadn't hit Bobby. He'd only taken the man in a hug. And Melissa had been left the odd one out. But, when had she not felt like that in her life? Maybe she was meant to be alone. Though, then she finally turned to face Dean, and thought, well, hoped, that it may not be entirely true.

He took the back of her head in his hand, tangling his fingers in her dark hair. He gave her a long kiss on the forehead and pulled away, looking into her eyes. "He shouldn't have done that," he said simply. "You feel better?"

She gave a broken, tired chuckle. "No, not really," she said, but then, after a minute added, "Maybe a little."

"Yeah, I think Sam probably does too. Except for the fact that you've got one hell of an arm."

 **Author's Note:** Okay, I think we're finally done with chapter fifteen. Onto chapter sixteen we go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you so much for reading!

Special thanks to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ and _**LoveFiction2017**_ for your reviews. It's so funny that you talked about Dean being mad in that review because I was just finishing up when I saw that, _**ImsebastianstanButter**_. Also, please expect something tomorrow. :)

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought.

Peace and love.


	41. Chapter Sixteen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- **"** **After The Gold Rush"** by Neil Young

 **Chapter Sixteen** **:** Part One

They needed a break. It had been only a few weeks since the witnesses had been raised, and apparently the apocalypse had begun. Melissa was beginning to feel the weight of everything now, and she wondered if this had been what the Winchester boys were feeling all this time. Just as it had been the year before, the search for Lillith was not going well. Leads were few and far between, but at least they still had the demon knife. Melissa thought it odd they never spoke much about the Colt, though it was in the back of everyone's minds anyway. By now, most things seemed just plain unattainable for them.

Werewolves were in Melissa's dreams. And Rosie was in her dreams. Whispering and growling. She knew why; she'd kind of lost sight of the reason she started hunting in the first place. She had to find that werewolf still. She could still see every detail of his face through the moonlight of that night her whole life went to hell for the second time. But how could she go after that? How could she stop now that she'd started with the Winchesters? She felt like she was falling and stuck at the same time in an odd way. And she knew Dean was having nightmares too. He wouldn't talk about it.

It had been a while since any of them had made their way up to Maine. But, a few people had disappeared in the Sebago Lake. No remains and no witnesses. They pretty much knew it would be the ghost of someone who had drowned. And they thought it would be easy.

But now they stood on a short pier, gazing out over the dark, greenish water. Melissa was shaking from the wind. Winter had come early this year. Dean would have put his arm around her when he saw the way her lips were turning blue had they not all been decked out FBI gear. They had no leads so far, it was just an interview with the family who had lost a little girl. They'd been fishing, and she'd wandered away. Only three years old.

"So, this the fishing spot?" Dean asked, his formal shoes making nearly no noise on the old structure. Melissa was behind him, and Sam behind her. The family, a mother, a father, and another daughter led the way.

Melissa glanced back at the old lake house, seeing the warm lights through the glass walls and wondering what the family was doing up here so late in the year. Weren't fish cold intolerant? "And did you hear anything before your daughter disappeared?" she asked the mother, a woman with curly blonde hair and a pointed nose. Her remaining daughter, a five-year-old with a puffy purple coat, was the woman's spitting image.

"We heard a little scream, but then we turned to find her and she was gone," she replied, her voice cracking as she looked down at the water. It had been a couple of weeks since the incident, and the police had already drug the body of water. Her husband had said nothing, and it seemed like he wasn't going to at any point.

Sam did most of the talking. He asked some routine, and some more specific questions. Eventually, Melissa got distracted by the pick and yellow of the sunset over the lake. _Hm_ , she thought, _maybe that's why they come so late in the year_. She couldn't seem to focus today. A case of a missing little girl hit her in a more personal place. She found it hard to seem like a professional FBI agent. She blew some loose bits of hair from her braid away from her face in frustration as the wind chilled her.

From beside her, she heard a yelp. A little ripple shown in the water but the little girl, Rebecca, was gone.

"Dammit," Melissa growled, immediately kicking off her shoes and throwing off her suit jacket. She should have been watching the girl. She was standing right next to her.

"Missy!" she heard Dean yell as she jumped in without thinking. She almost couldn't feel her body because of the cold, but still, somehow, she swam. She'd forgotten to breath in before she went under, and the lake water stung her eyes, but she desperately reached out around her, feeling for anything. Feeling for hope.

Her heart was pounding. She couldn't be responsible for another child. Rebecca was only a couple years younger than Rosie had been. The time wasn't there, and she couldn't tell how long she'd been under there before she had to start breathing again, and breathing in the water. She coughed but that only made it worse.

But then, she felt it. It was an arm of a puffy coat. She swam closer, still coughing and beginning to feel lightheaded, grabbing the little girl's torso. She could feel the girl's breathing. She tried to swim upwards, feeling like she might even save someone today. She had to pull as hard and she could; there was something holding them down.

Somehow, she made it up, fueled by her panic and her rage. She made it back to the dock, not really hearing the boys' shouts and seeing black spots as she lifted the little girl up first. But just as she was about to grab onto Dean's hand, she turned and saw a pale, fleshy hand grip her shoulder. And everything went black.

. . .

He tried to go after her, but Sam held him back.

"Just wait for her, Dean," his little brother had urged, his hands on his shoulders. He had almost forgotten about the parents who stood behind him, tears in their eyes and their hearts stopping. It must have been at least a couple minutes. Dean couldn't tell.

He was about to jump in, to give Sam the finger and save them both. But then, just as the sun was completely disappearing behind the horizon, he saw Melissa emerge, her entire face red and her hair sticking to her cheeks. She held the little girl, who seemed like she was still breathing and relatively alert, in one arm. Dean's stomach did a flip of relief, and Sam's hand relaxed and fell from his arm. He heard shouts of joy from the parents behind him.

Melissa swam up to the pier, giving the little girl up to Sam, who was taken back to her parents. Dean honestly didn't know how the girl was still alive, let alone awake. He crouched down and reached out to Melissa. He had just touched her ice cold fingers, but felt her slip back down as she passed out, and he caught a glimpse of a corpse-like hand on her shoulder. His instinct kicked in instantly and he took her wrist fast, as hard as he could, and pulled her from the water with all his force.

When she was out and Dean took her in his arms, Sam finally got away from the family and could assess what was happening. He knelt behind Dean, asking no questions just watching anxiously as Dean breathed into her mouth, her head lolling around and her skin turning from red to white, draining of all color.

"Come, on, Mel…" Dean heard Sam behind him.

It took a minute or two, but finally, she sat up sharply and coughed out the water violently, struggling for breath and shaking uncontrollably. Dean could feel his heart constrict inside his chest as her head laid on his legs. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her close to him. She was still coughing. Her throat was beginning to feel raw and her mind was spinning. She didn't think she'd ever felt so cold. It was only late October, but she'd never jumped in a Maine lake during that time before. It was an interesting experience to say the least.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay…" she repeated to Dean over and over again, her voice croaky and cracked. Dean rubbed her arms up and down just as the parents were doing to their little girl.

Sam stood helpless behind them. Dean kissed her wet hair, doing his best to envelope her in his warmth. She would have pushed him off, insisting she didn't need his help, if her hands and legs weren't numb. So instead, as she continued to cough against Dean's chest, she said it over and over. Maybe for Dean or Sam, or maybe for herself.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. Don't worry. I'm okay."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, there you go! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this installment!

Special thanks to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ (happy birthday :)), _**Obsessed**_ , and _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ for your reviews. They are always appreciated!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought! This is a bit of a cliffhanger, but don't worry, more soon!

Peace and love.


	42. Chapter Sixteen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

- **"The Weight"** by The Band

\- **"Hey Jude"** by The Beatles

 **Chapter Sixteen** **:** Part Two

"Could you turn the fucking heat up in here? It's freezing," Melissa grumbled from the back seat. It had been two days since her little incident at the lake. Dean had insisted she be put on research duty the day before, despite her vehement protests. But Sam had taken his brother's side, and she'd simply been outvoted. Today, she was luckier. And so were they all. They thought they'd gotten to the bottom of it. A troop of girl scouts had been out in a canoe about forty years before when it seemed to just overturn, which explained the few missing little girls over the years.

"You're only cold because you _have_ a cold," Dean said stubbornly from the front seat, though he turned the heat up anyway. Sam chuckled at this beside his brother. He really was a big softy for Melissa.

"I don't have a cold," Melissa argued grouchily, running a hand through her hair and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, you do. I can hear it in your voice," Dean said with a smirk, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

"No, you can't," Melissa said petulantly.

"Whatever you wanna believe, gorgeous," Dean replied smugly.

"Ugh, shut up, Dean," she groaned, leaning her cheek against the window and closing her groggy eyes. Naturally, she was a little more than exhausted at having to burn the bodies of an entire girl scout troop (which she knew sounded beyond horrible). She still wasn't sure it had actually worked, if there was something more tying the ghosts to the lake, but for now they were going back to the motel to rest. They all definitely needed it.

None of them were too beaten up, mostly just sweaty and sleepy. However, Melissa had been put on lookout, meaning she'd been wielding the salt gun and the iron rod for four hours while the boys dug the graves. Luckily, they were pretty shallow. Melissa wondered if it was the way the ground had eroded over time or if the cemetery workers back in the day had just been feeling lazy or overwhelmed when the dragging of the lake produced so many corpses.

And still, some pieces besides the spirits being in the lake were missing. How did not one of them survive? Did they get all the members of the troop for sure? Melissa didn't know. But, as she drifted off slowly, it became harder and harder for her to care.

. . .

Allen was there, but it wasn't a bad dream. He seemed happy, but hazy. Everything she saw was blurred, but she woke up to a gentle hand shaking her shoulder. She cleared her throat and slowly opened her eyes, finding Dean standing above her, a grin plastered to his face. In moments like these, she thought she saw the person he was before he went to hell. They still hadn't discussed it. But that spark of light in him was dimming.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said. He reached out a hand to put on her forehead, noticing her cheeks were flushed. She slapped him away quickly.

"You touch me, you die," she snapped.

He put his hands up in surrender, still smiling. "We got Chinese," he told her, pulling her out of the car by her cold hands through the open Impala door. She looked ahead towards the motel room door in the dim evening light. Sam was unlocking it, his shoulders tense as he slouched slightly. She sighed and Dean put a hand around her waist as they walked. Things still weren't all there between her and the youngest Winchester, but they were getting there.

"Feelin' alright?" Dean asked beside her. "Not feelin' drowny or chokey or anything?"

She laughed. "Yeah, keep up the jokes, Winchester, and see where it gets ya."

He chuckled heartily in response, kissing her hair. "Ah, you love me, Missy."

Dean threw the keys on the counter and sighed as he watched Sam unpack the food in Melissa and the older Winchester's room. They only had single-bed rooms left at the motel and they'd begun to splurge a little bit with the stolen credit cards since the whole hell thing. The "nothing to lose" attitude had rubbed off at least a little on all of them.

Melissa blew out a heavy sigh as she sat backwards on the bed, the boys beginning to eat as she unlaced her boots. She sneezed. Once, then twice.

"Bless you," Dean said suspiciously as he sat down at the kitchen table across from Sam, pulling his chopsticks apart.

"Thank you," she replied, lying back on the bed with a sigh, her hair splayed out around her head as she stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting her sore back relax. She couldn't wait to shower. After ghost hunts she always felt a little extra grimy. She sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears as she sat up again, trying to widen her eyes and seem the most awake that she could.

"You sure you're okay, Mel?" Sam asked tentatively as she sat between them under the greenish light of the overhead lamp.

She paused to look at him pointedly for a moment before answering. "If either of you asks me anything like that one more time tonight, you'll both be dead by morning. You won't know what hit you."

Dean smirked down at his lo mein, but said nothing more.

. . .

 _The river of blood was about as cold as Sebago Lake had been. Maybe even more. But her whole body was numb, and she most likely wouldn't have been able to notice a difference. She was drowning again. She couldn't really see, but she could tell it was blood from the coppery taste in her mouth as she tried and failed to breathe. But this time, she was looking for Rosie. Or for Allen. It was all mixed up inside her head. She swam and coughed and gulped. But she didn't ever pass out. She was just in a constant state of breathlessness and panic._

 _And at the last moment, someone grabbed her out of the blood by her collar, choking her but saving her. She looked up to see her rescuer but saw the toothy face of the werewolf who'd killed her sister grinning back at her._

" _Long time no see," it growled._

. . .

She awoke with a start, her hand flying to her mouth, not screaming but instead beginning to sob. Her eyes stung hotly inside her head as she tried to muffle her crying. Slowly adjusting to her surroundings, she was able to quiet the anxious butterflies in her stomach. Dean's arm was slung loosely over her waist and the room was light lowly, early morning glimmers peeking through the shades. She was almost calm, almost back to dozing, when Dean began to stir beside her.

"Missy?" he asked groggily. She sniffed quietly.

"Go back to sleep," she urged, but her voice gave her away. He'd only heard her sound like that a couple times since knowing her.

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently, more awake now, his hand on her shoulder as her back was still turned to him.

"I'm-"

"Fine, I know," he cut her short. "Please look at me."

She sighed, but turned over anyway and swallowed thickly. His face softened as he saw her. Her eyes rimmed red and her cheeks flushed. He'd never seen Melissa very sick before, maybe not even at all. But he was thinking this was it.

"It was just a dream," she told him, looking down, finding it hard to meet his eyeline. "I'm okay."

He sighed heavily and watched her with sympathetic eyes. He put a hand to her forehead, and this time she didn't shove him off. Her skin was slick with sweat and she was burning up.

"You're not okay," he insisted. "You're getting sick."

"No," she sniffed, looking up at him more boldly now. "I'm not."

He nodded in disbelief at her stubbornness but wasn't surprised. He sighed out his nose and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was hot under his lips as he kissed her forehead, feeling an odd sense of overprotection.

"Alright, just go back to sleep." He pulled her close before she could speak anymore. Her voice was cracked and strained. He couldn't tell if it was from the tears or if her throat was sore. She fell asleep quickly in his arms.

. . .

She woke up to a beeping, rubbing at her eyes in frustration and grimacing as she swallowed.

"Yeah, definitely not good," she heard Sam surmise from somewhere above her, followed by a heavy sigh from Dean.

She rolled over and groaned with her face in the pillow. She couldn't help the nasty cough that followed as she cracked open her eyes, trying to face the morning light.

"Jesus, Missy, thought you laid off the smokes," Dean joked as he walked over to her, sitting on the side of the bed. She ran a hand through her hair as she looked up at the ceiling, clearing her throat.

"What time are we leaving?" she asked quietly, trying to get her voice sounding at least a little normal. She ignored the pounding in her head and the aching in her muscles. She was just tired, and though she hadn't had a cigarette in more than five months, it was probably just aftereffects, or so she thought.

" _You_ are not going anywhere," Dean replied, putting the back of his hand to her cheek.

She shoved him off and moved to sat up. "Don't be stupid, Dean, I'm going." She turned away from him and coughed into her elbow again, struggling for her breath for a moment. She almost felt like she was back in the lake.

"Melissa, stop," Dean countered, pushing her gently back down by her shoulder. She didn't struggle as much as she could have. She sighed.

"I am not an invalid, asshat," she growled.

"No, but you do have a fever," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. "Sammy's gonna go tie up the loose ends and we're gonna get you good as new by tomorrow."

She sat up again, pushing Dean away by his chest. "I don't have a fever and you don't even _own_ a thermometer."

She scoffed as she leapt from the bed on the other side, brushing past Sam into the kitchen to pour herself a black cup of burnt coffee. She took one sip of the molten liquid, knowing it would do nothing to soothe her throat but hoping it would even out her voice. Leaning up against the counter, wearing Dean's old flannel as a nightgown, she looked up to see both of the brothers staring at her.

"We do have a thermometer, Mel," Sam told her, holding it up. "And you're sick."

She rolled her eyes. "Sticking a thermometer in my ear while I was asleep is the creepiest thing y'all have ever done."

"Would you please just get back in the damn bed?" Dean asked gruffly, standing up and walking closer to her. Sam watched in concern over by the kitchen table.

She tucked her hair behind her ears in frustration and sniffed. "But what about talking to the family and making sure we got all the bones and what the hell is tying them to the lake and-"

She was cut off by a coughing fit, racking her frame so hard that she had to put a hand on the counter to steady herself.

Dean sighed heavily. "We have _got_ to get some Robitussin in you. Sam's gonna go, and we're gonna stay."

"Dammit, no! I am a hunter, and I'm gonna do my job," she yelled, losing her voice more with each word.

"Yeah, and y'know what hunters do? They save each other when things go wrong, and right now, I'm not too sure you'd be able to that," Dean argued, looking to Sam for some backup.

"He's right, Mel," his brother said sympathetically.

She sighed, holding her forehead in her hand, suddenly feeling her fever. It felt like the fatigue she experienced after a rough hunt. "Okay, fine, but why do you have to stay, Dean?'

"Because today we're just doing some fluff stuff anyway, and you ain't exactly in the best shape, darlin.'"

She took another sip of her coffee and grimaced. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "It's just a cold, Dean."

"Hell of a cold," he replied. "And today, you can't fight me back-"

"Try me," she sniffed, but Dean smirked anyway.

"Yeah, right. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

. . .

A towel wrapped around her, Melissa emerged from the bathroom with wet hair and slightly less flushed cheeks. Dean was by the ancient stove, a rag thrown over his shoulder as he stirred something in a pot.

"What are you doing?" she asked, clearing her throat again. It was pretty much no use at this point.

"Hey, how ya feelin'?" he asked her brightly, coming over to her as she sat down on the bed and placing a long kiss on her forehead. Her eyes were still glassy but she felt a little cooler. The advil and the shower had definitely helped.

"I'm okay, Dean. What are you doing?" she asked impatiently.

"It's tomato-rice soup," he said, rushing back over to keep stirring. "My...mom used to make it."

She sighed and looked at him for a moment. It was odd to see him this way, almost amusingly domestic. "No, I mean...why are you taking care of me like this?"

"What do you mean, Missy? I love you. You take care of people you love," he said simply, pouring the soup into two bowls for them. He came over and handed her one, sitting across from her as she leaned against the headboard, still in nothing but a towel. "Eat that, you'll feel better."

"You don't need to do this," she said quietly, shaking her head as she looked down at the soup.

"Why the hell are you so stubborn about this? I mean, I don't get it. I know you feel like crap, and the case is almost over anyway, why are you fightin' me so hard?" he asked her in exasperation. She was battling whatever this virus was even more than Sam used to when they were kids.

She blew out a shaky breath and looked back up at him, her eyes suddenly watery. "Because...I don't wanna….be a burden, I guess. I mean, you just got back from hell, God knows Sam has enough problems. I can't-sometimes I feel like I'm just slowing everybody down."

He looked down in apparent disappointment, taking the bowls from her and going to place them on the table. He sat closer to her this time, taking her hands in his. She sniffed again and met his eyes, refusing to let any tears fall.

"Now, I want you to listen to me," Dean said seriously. She tried to look away, cheeks burning in both fever and shame at her vulnerable confession, but he wouldn't let her. He took her chin gently in one of his hands. "You save my life every single day. You save Sammy's life every single day. And you do _not_ slow us down."

She scoffed tearfully.

"No, hey, think about it. Remember a few weeks ago when I got food poisoning from that diner out in Massachusetts?"

"You gotta stop eating so much grease," she laughed a little.

"Never," he replied, trying his best to remain solemn. He really wanted her to hear him this time. "And you didn't leave my side one second that whole time. And _you_ were the one who pushed me out of the way of that big ass mirror when Castiel was trying to talk to me. And while I was gone, _you_ were the one who held down the fort. Tried to take care of Sam, and hell, you got Bobby to stop drinkin,' or drink less-"

She stopped him with another tired sigh and he let go of her chin. "You don't know what it was like when you were gone…"

"I don't care what you were like when I was gone. I will love you no matter what, Melissa," he promised, squeezing her hands.

Finally, she let her tears fall. "Don't tell me that."

He wiped her tears away with his thumb. "And why not?"

"There are things you don't know about me, Dean," she practically whispered.

He got up suddenly, bringing the bowls of soup back over. He thought it over, but decided not to let her know what Sam had told him about her. It would only upset her, and she was already so sick. She shivered, feeling her wet hair on her back, and sneezed.

"Bless you," Dean said. "I know there are things I don't know about you; there are things you don't know about me. I don't care. Now," he sat down across from her again, "you still have a fever. You gotta eat this and get changed into something dry."

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry," she told him, somewhere between disinterested and nauseous.

"That, I also don't care about," he quipped, beginning to eat his own soup, thinking to the hazy memories of his mother making it for him. And singing the lyrics of _Hey Jude_.

She smiled and finally gave a broken giggle. "Fine, but only because you went to so much trouble. Where'd you get the stuff to make this anyway?"

"Sent Sam out this morning. That's when we got the thermometer."

 **Author's Note:** Here's another installment for you! Thought we would take a nice little break from the serious stuff and have some good ol' character development. Hope you all enjoyed it and thank you for reading!

Special thanks to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**x3sunnydaay**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , and _**LoveFiction2017**_ for your wonderful reviews!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	43. Chapter Sixteen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 **\- "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down"** by The Band

 **\- "Fire Woman"** by The Cult

 **\- "Anyday"** by Derek and the Dominos

 **Chapter Sixteen** **:** Part Three

 _It was night. The landscape around them was green and pearlescent, and Melissa felt warm and cozy in her big sleeping bag. She was proud. The first camping trip alone. Well, she was more proud that they'd managed to sneak out of her aunt and uncle's house without a beating. Uncle Jim had also served in Vietnam. Her mind swam with dreams of the cute boy with the locker next to hers and what she would be like in a few years, once she got out. She saw nothing of hospital rooms, heard nothing of the heart monitors. She was getting better. She smiled in her sleep, Rosie sleeping a little ways off. It wasn't far from home, just a mile or two into the woods behind the house. It was a nice little interlude away from the smell of moth balls and liquor._

 _She took a minute to realize the screams were outside her mind, and woke to a dimly lit northeastern twilight. But it was Rosie calling out her name in her little girl screams. When she was finally able to really see her surroundings, she saw a figure crouched over her baby sister, its hands plunged into her small, now lifeless chest. Her breathing stopped, and she froze. She watched as the thing pulled Rosie's heart from her chest in the glow of the full moon. She screamed, hoping that her dream had just gone bad. The thing looked up as it was bringing the little girl's heart close to its face, and she saw the teeth._

 _It was a man of around forty, his mouth lined with endless, sharp canines and blood dripping down his chin. His eyes were light and inhumanly so. She knew instantly it was a monster. And she ran. Her hair blew behind her through the dewy air and the sticks and pine needles crunched painfully under her feet. She took as many sharp turns as she could, not really thinking as she was chased. At some point, she knew she had to stop, hiding behind a tree with a burning in her lungs and a pounding heart. And she waited. She waited until the night slowly melted away into morning._

. . .

Sitting up with a gasp, she started to cough almost instantly. Apparently the burning in her chest wasn't just part of the nightmare. With her head resting on her knees, it took her a few moments to regain her breath, wiping at her nose and eyes with the sleeve of the flannel, she sat up and looked around with her fevered gaze. It was a hazy late afternoon light filling the room, and Dean's side of the bed was empty. Only a worn copy of _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ was left in his place. She smiled a little, thinking back to the time she read him Vonnegut.

"Dean?" she called out hoarsely into the silent air. Nothing. Her heart jumped a little as she hopped out of bed, shivering at her naked legs. She ran to the bathroom first, and then to Sam's identical room next to theirs, not bothering to put on any other clothes. Neither of the Winchester boys were anywhere to be found.

"Fuck," she muttered, rushing back into their room and grabbing her phone from the pocket of her jacket. She noticed Dean's jacket missing. She stared around the room wildly as she listened to the call ring out, eventually ending in Dean's other _other_ cellphone voicemail message.

She grumbled and flipped her phone closed with a _snap_ before she eyed a note written on a napkin on the kitchen table and ran over to it. _Sam needed help on the case, came and picked me up. Be back soon. Love you.-Dean P.S. STAY IN BED!_ it read, blurry without her glasses on.

Sighing, she tried his cell once more with no answer. He would've picked up. She knew he would have. She stumbled around the motel room clumsily and tried to ignore the ringing in her ears. Glancing up at the clock, she noticed it was already half past five. She'd been out for more than a few hours, and she wondered how long he'd been gone. She pulled her jeans and boots, trying her best to think over all the facts of the case. Why would Sam need help anyway? Wasn't he just talking to the family?

She grabbed her jacket and her duffel, hurrying out of the motel room, taking little to no time to _borrow_ an SUV parked out front. And then suddenly, she knew what they were dealing with. It all clicked. The little girls, the lake, the hand on her shoulder. She felt for the flare gun in her duffel as she peeled away. She sighed in relief feeling it there and knowing it wasn't stashed away in Baby's trunk. There were some weapons she felt best keeping around at all times.

. . .

It wasn't a surprise to see the remaining three members of the family standing on the dock of Sebago Lake. The little girl was in that same purple jacket. What she didn't see was Sam and Dean. Well, not at first. They all turned to her as they heard her heavy boots running up to them on the pine of the dock. She could barely breathe and her face had drained of all color, but she couldn't even feel it. Not once she saw the Winchester boys thrashing around in the dark, greenish water.

"They're-" the father started.

"I know," Melissa snapped as she brushed past them and flinched a little as she stopped short at the end of the dock. "Where's the journal?" she yelled, watching them struggle for breath. She could see them being pulled down and felt her hands begin to tremble. She knew the feeling.

"Impala," Sam yelled back to her, his long hair sticking to his face and neck. He was struggling less than Dean, but he felt like his ankles were weighted down. He couldn't make it over to help his big brother.

She nodded for a moment and rushed to the gravel driveway, nearly tripping a few times as she sprinted. She tried the door with wild eyes and didn't think after she found it locked. She rammed her fist through the back window, seeing the small leather book thrown on the back seat. She winced as a shard got stuck in her wrist, but she didn't even have time to pull it out, only reaching blindly for the journal and running back to the lake.

Flipping hurriedly through the worn pages, she searched for a date she never thought she would remember, squinting at and reciting the Latin words written in John's messy writing quickly into the crisp air. Her voice was ragged and her hair was messy, and she tried not to focus on the Winchesters choking below her. The family were standing there shouting, unsure of whether they needed to jump in. Melissa yelled at them to stay back after she spat out the last words of the incantation. A pale, shriveled, corpse-like figure appeared on the shore a few yards away. She had long, gnarly grey hair and a filthy black cloak. Melissa didn't hesitate before she fired off three flare shots, not missing once. She heard sighs of relief all around her as she watched the figure seemed to fizzle away, a mere mist in the air.

"Damn water witches," she shouted after the figure, her cheeks flushing in anger and adrenaline. She tried to pant, but found it still hard to breathe as she pulled the boys up from the water, handing them back the jackets they had seemingly thrown off before jumping in the.

She attacked Dean with a hug as he slowly ambled back up the dock. He kissed the top of her head as he shivered, relishing in her warmth, which may have been heightened from her fever. She pulled away after a moment, then surprised Sam with a ferocious hug as well. He was still unsure where he stood with Melissa on everything, though things had mostly gone back to normal. Now she was making it abundantly clear. They were good. She backed away from him and pointed a harsh finger to his chest.

"You ever die," she warned, her eyes dark and her voice weak, "and I'll fucking kill you." He nodded and swallowed, his lips blue.

Then, she turned to Dean, running her hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm him. "And you. You ever leave again without telling me, you get what that witch just got."

"How'd you know?" he asked, his voice shaking. He hadn't known how Melissa had managed to pull a kid up from that water with that bitch keeping her down. He'd been pretty close to going under.

"Killed one with your dad," she said quietly, sniffling as the wind blew and her now wet shirt chilled her. "One of my first hunts."

Sam sent the family back off to their house, the hunt finally actually over. He wanted to keep the goodbyes short so they could get back to the heat of the Impala. Melissa finally had a minute, so she pulled the glass shard gingerly from her wrist, only then noticing the blood that had begun to drip down her arm and into her sleeve.

"Sorry about your window," she said as she put pressure on the wound. She was starting to feel lightheaded. Dean looked down at her in alarm when he saw what she meant, bringing his own numb hands to the cuff of her leather. He was almost too cold to speak anymore.

. . .

"Damn, can she snore," Bobby chuckled as he sat, leaning back in the kitchen chair and sipping his beer. It wasn't noon yet, but he was beyond caring. Five months of sobriety was enough.

"She doesn't usually. It's only because she's still sick as a dog," Dean told him, sipping on some coffee. He still didn't feel warm enough yet. He watched Melissa as she tossed and turned in her sleep on the couch, her cheeks fevered and shiny with sweat.

"Yeah, she still managed to save our asses," Sam said gratefully, running a hand through his hair and yawning. They'd gotten back only a couple hours earlier, driving through the night and stitching up Melissa's wrist with the help of some whiskey on the way back. With car theft, they knew it was often better to be safe than sorry.

"Wouldn't make sense if she didn't," Bobby remarked, "anytime she wasn't on a hunt these past few months, she'd be down at that shooting range a few miles outta town. Didn't see her much besides when she would come home and find me drinkin,' _then_ she'd let me have it."

"The shooting range?" Dean asked, not remembering Melissa ever being so interested.

"She was a nightmare to be around when she didn't."

. . .

 _Bobby started awake from his reading, knocking a glass of whiskey from the corner of his desk onto the old carpet at the sound of the front door slamming harshly._

" _Ugh, dammit," he grumbled drowsily, sitting up and straightening his hat as he looked down at the brown liquid that would probably stain. He didn't_ really _care, though._

" _Mel?" he called out, his stomach dropping when he didn't hear a response. He felt for the gun in his vest pocket and stood up slowly. "Melissa?" he asked again._

 _From the kitchen, he heard thrashing around and glass breaking. He ran over and slid the pocket doors back, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Melissa before him. His hand dropped from his gun in his pocket and he only stood, watching her. It was hard to tell which Melissa would meet him on any given day._

 _She didn't turn to look at him, only smashing another whiskey tumbler into the sink. "Where the fuck is Sam?" she yelled, blowing off some steam. It had been three days since she had been at Bobby's and in those three days, there was no trace of Sam. "I'm never gonna find that brat. He's a younger sibling if I ever saw one!"_

. . .

She sighed awake as she felt a cool hand on her forehead, then moving to her cheek.

"Missy, wake up," Dean said gruffly, sitting on the coffee table with a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to him. The cough was getting better, but they still needed her fever to break. Dean was just glad she wasn't fighting him anymore.

"No," she groaned, pushing her face into the pillow, having been woken from her first dreamless sleep in weeks.

"Come on, just a minute," he rolled his eyes. She was _really_ not a morning person.

She sighed. "Fine," she rolled over and sat up slowly, bringing her knees up to her chest. She looked over to the kitchen and saw Sam and Bobby lost in their own conversation, probably something to do with angels and demons. The usual.

She took the medicine wordlessly. Dean eyed her but she ignored it, setting the glass down and fiddling with the bandages on her wrist.

"Still pissed at me?" he asked.

She looked up at him angrily. "You think? I mean, you could've at least woken me up to give me some warning! 'Hey Missy, I'm gonna go out with Sam for a while, and then you're gonna have to come save my ass again!'"

"Like the good ol' days, huh?" he smirked, trying to lift her spirits. She seemed so exhausted and deflated. She smiled a little, remembering that first Wendigo all those years ago. She couldn't believe how much more she knew now. It was a whole different world.

"Yeah," she sniffed, looking up at him. She saw his same green eyes and his freckles and his gold protection charm hanging around his neck. The same as it always was. She thought back to those days when the charm had been hers, not believing she had survived that. She took it in her hand, running her thumb over the cold metal.

"You went to hell, Dean," she said quietly, in her raspy voice. She hoped Sam and Bobby wouldn't hear. "Don't scare me like that again."

His eyes softened and he ran a hand over his face, then interlaced their fingers. He sighed. "I'll do my best."

She smiled weakly. "I know."

 **Author's Note:** I've had a bit of writer's block lately, so I'm sorry this is a little late. But I hoped you liked this chapter. I think we all deserve a break from the big plot every once in a while. Don't worry, we'll be back on that in the next chapter!

Thank you for reading!

A special thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**SomebodyWhoCares**_ , and _**KathleenWinchester**_ for your great reviews! It's always appreciated and I can't thank you enough! Feedback really keeps me going.

PLEASE review down below to let me know what your thought!

Peace and love.


	44. Chapter Seventeen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Someday Soon"** by Judy Collins

\- " **School's Out"** by Alice Cooper

\- " **The Needle and the Damage Done"** by Neil Young

 **Chapter Seventeen** **:** Part One

"Judy Collins was born in Colorado," Melissa mused, trying to distract Dean and slow his heartbeat with her head laid on his chest. He'd woken up from his nightmare sweaty and breathless, but of course still hadn't woken Sam.

"Y'know, just because we're in Colorado doesn't mean we're gonna run into Judy Collins," he replied huskily, with an unconvincing smile. He tried to shake the fiery images from his head. They still hadn't talked about it. Mostly because he knew things would be different when he told her about the souls and about the torture. She'd hate his guts. She'd see him as a monster, because that's what he was. He wasn't ready to lose her just yet.

"Why can't any of the ghosts we met ever be of famous people? But, y'know, not evil famous people."

. . .

Light streamed through the windows of the Rock Ridge Medical Center in the mid-morning and Melissa wrinkled her nose at the smell of formaldihyde. It wasn't unfamiliar to her, but that didn't make it any less pleasant. The exam room was shiny and steel and there was a slightly-less-than-fresh corpse in a body bag on the table below them. She shifted uncomfortably in her formal flats and tugged at the sleeves of her blazer.

"Stop fidgeting," Dean said softly to her as they waited for the doctor to arrive. "You're makin' me nervous."

She glared up at him. "I hate the monkey suits."

"Trust me, Mel, we've heard you loud and clear many, _many_ times," Sam chimed in from her other side with a smirk. She elbowed him in her ribs.

Neither Dean nor Melissa had gotten much sleep the night before and now they were standing over a dead body. And they were in their suits. She couldn't stand it. It would have been much better to feel the familiar curve of a trigger in her fingers. Her hands were shaking. She rolled her eyes at herself and tried to quiet her nerves. It wasn't the dying people part of the hospital, the victims here were already dead, but it didn't make too much of a difference.

"Agent Tyler, Agent Perry, and Agent Garcia," the middle-aged man with the graying hair asked as he stepped into the room. It had been about fifteen minutes sinced they'd flashed their fake IDs to the nervous intern at the desk out front. Dean nodded at him and stuck out a hand to shake. The coroner didn't introduce himself or acknowledge Dean, only gestured to the corpse on the table. "Meet Frank O'Brien."

Melissa didn't do much of the talking, looking down at the body with wandering eyes. He seemed normal. So completely normal.

"He died of heart attack, right?" Sam asked, his voice taking on a soothing tone even during questioning, as it often did while he was in his Fed getup.

"Three days ago," the coroner replied with a nod of confirmation.

"But Frank O'Brien was 44 years old," Sam said, reading from the file they'd been given, "and, according to this, a marathon runner."

"Everybody drops dead sooner or later," the coroner said with a shrug. "It's why I got job security."

Melissa grimaced as they watched the coroner perform an impromptu autopsy, sawing up the man's ribs. At one point, Dean was handed a heart, and Sam was sprayed with spleen juice. She stayed a few steps away from the table, biting her lips nearly raw. She politely but shortly answered any questions asked of her. It wasn't the fact that it was a body, she'd be out of a job if she always acted this way around them; it was the hospital. She tried not to think about it, but all she could hear was the buzzing of the flourescent lights. They were giving her a headache. Tasting old, stale hospital sandwiches and feeling her mother's cold hand in her own, she thought she had been brought back in time.

She didn't notice she was staring up at the ceiling, feeling lost in her foggy memories, until Dean's hand came gently to the small of her back.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She blinked and looked back down at the table, the body now covered in a white sheet and the boys both looking at her in concern. She didn't know when the coroner had left or when Sam had wiped the spleen juice off his cheek. She cleared her throat. "Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. Got all we need right?"

They nodded at her.

"Alright," she said walking out towards the doors in front of them, eager to breathe the fresh air. "Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

She turned when she heard them snickering from behind her as they caught up. "What?"

"Where the hell you do get your sayings?" Sam asked.

"You've really never heard that before? My mom said that all the time," she said with a smile, this time happy with a memory.

"You can take the girl outta the south…" Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her hair for a moment. She squirmed out of his grasp.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Kansas boys," she quipped, smoothing down her blazer, ready to look professional as they exited the hellhole of a hospital.

. . .

"Do uh...do you know what scared him?" Dean asked shakily, eyeing all the reptiles around the room. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forhead and his face was pale. They were interviewing Frank O'Brien's neighbor, following an interesting visit with the seemingly germaphobic sheriff of the town.

. . .

" _Shoes off," the tall and mean-looking sheriff ordered as they entered his office. The three hunters shared questioning looks but said nothing. The office was mostly generic, with worn green carpet and yellowing walls._

" _Al Britton," he introduced himself, shaking their hands. His eyes stayed on Melissa for a moment. "The feds are hiring little hens now, huh?"_

 _She smiled at him thinly. "Have been for awhile now, sir."_

 _Melissa almost laughed when she watched Dean glare at the man, who had in two minutes already proved himself a sexist asshole, as they sat down across from him. Well, Sam and Dean sat down. There were only two chairs, and Melissa insisted she stand. Less talking, more snooping around._

 _She watched the sheriff as he slathered his hands in copious amounts of sanitizer. But soon, she turned away, letting her eyes roam over the various trophies and awards. Melissa wondered vaguely what it was like to win an award. She hardly even heard the boys interviewing the sheriff._

 _Suddenly, she sneezed twice. Then a third time. It had been about three weeks since the lake, and the cough was just about gone. But the sneezing stayed. She was getting pretty damn tired of it._

" _Bless you," Dean piped up from his seat, ever the overprotective man he was._

" _Thank you," she muttered, finding a picture of Frank O'Brien and the sheriff in an old-looking frame in the glass cabinet, amidst all the trophies. They wore softball uniforms and smug smiles._

" _That's it," the sheriff said in his growly voice, still sitting at his desk. It was only when she back to him that she saw how pale he was, and the angry red rash peeking out from under one of his shirt's cuffs. She furrowed her brows and was about to ask him about it before the man continued._

" _Your little girlfriend is outta here," he said to Dean, looking authoritarian but anxious. "She's like a walking infection."_

" _Hey, I don't think that's necessary," Dean sat up, his voice edgy. There were about a million reasons not to like this guy._

" _Yeah, , she's not-" Sam began._

" _That's fine," Melissa chimed in, a little smirk on her face. There was a connection. Something was up with him. And she couldn't wait to find out what he had done. The guy was bad news. "I'll be sure to spit in your coffee pot on my way out."_

 _She smiled wickedly as she gave the sheriff one final glance on her way out. His face was pale and his mouth agape, looking like she had threatened to poison him. Yeah, there was fishy going on with the members of that softball team._

. . .

That sheriff had looked terrified, and apparently Frank O'Brien was the bravest around before he died either.

"Witches," the neighbor answered Dean, caressing a large, green snake that hung around his neck. He was a portly man with a receding hairline, and he seemed nice enough. But Dean swallowed nervously as he watched a large lizard walk past the couch in front of them. He put a hand on Melissa's knee as she sat between he and his brother.

"Witches?" Sam echoed, his eyebrows raised. "He was scared of witches?"

"Like…" Melissa gestured around with her hands, looking for the right way to ask what kind of witches he was talking about. It seemed odd asking a civilian. Though, this civilian seemed rather odd himself. Melissa hadn't known before walking into the house that snakes were also one of Dean's little fears, along with flying. He was practically shaking.

"Like _Wizard of Oz_ ," the neighbor explained. "It was on TV the other night, right? Frank kept saying that green bitch was out to get him."

"Hm," Melissa hummed with a smirk. "Not the flying monkeys?"

Sam ignored her. "Anything else scare him?"

"Oh, everything else," the neighbor said. "Al-Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweeteners. Those Pez dispensers with their dead little eyes...everything."

"So, what was Frank like?" Melissa spoke up. Usually she wouldn't be doing as much of the talking, but Dean seemed pretty much useless right now.

The neighbor hesitated. "I mean, he's dead, y'know? I don't wanna hammer him. He got better."

"Got better?" Sam chimed in.

"Well, I mean, in high school, he was kind of a dick."

"A dick?" Melissa asked.

"Like a bully," the snake enthusiast went on, "he probably taped half the town's buttcheeks together, mine included."

Melissa heard Dean snicker beside her, but his clammy hand still gripped her knee tightly. She couldn't figure out exactly what the hell was going on with him.

"So, he pissed a lot of people off," Melissa concluded. "Anybody who might want revenge?"

The neighbor's eyes widened. "Frank had a heart attack, right?"

"Just answer the question, sir," Melissa said, her voice steady.

"No, I don't think so," the neighbor told them skeptically. "Like I said, he got better. And after what happened to his wife…"

"His wife?" Sam perked up. There hadn't been any mention of Frank ever having a wife so far. "So, he was married?"

"She died about 20 years ago. Frank was really broken up about it."

Sam and Melissa nodded at each other. They'd gotten about all they needed. Dean absentmindedly grabbed Melissa's hand. She looked over at him in alarm, wondering he'd forgotten about keeping their cover. He stared at the snake around the neighbor's neck.

The man smiled at Dean kindly, a proud look in his eye as they watched his collection. "Don't worry about Donny. He's a sweetheart. It's Marie you should look out for," he said, nodding at the arm of the couch by Dean. A giant, spotted yellow snake was crawling up, its chin grazing the back of Dean's hand. "She smells fear."

. . .

"Why does there _always_ have to be a time limit?" Melissa grumbled in frustration as she walked back to the car from checking in at the Bluebird hotel with Sam, a box of donuts in his hand.

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Sam assured her, his face set in worry. Melissa rolled her eyes.

"You know, for some reason, I don't believe you," she snapped.

Dean always seemed to be the one in the line of fire, whether he chose to be or not. And today was no different. When she was the one in danger, she didn't care. It was easy to sacrifice yourself. Watching someone else do it was exhausting. And though this time he hadn't sold his soul or anything, it still gave Melissa a bad taste in her mouth. She could still feel the dewy grass under her hands as she pounded at the ground outside the house Dean has been mauled to death in. She could still feel the rawness in her throat and the stinging on her cheek when Sam had slapped. She shook her head, trying to chase those thoughts away. She took a deep breath. _Present, not past_ , she told herself.

As they approached Baby, Melissa saw Dean's fists pumping to the beat of _Eye of the Tiger_ as he laid in the front seat. She smirked as she got closer, banging on the top of the car and smiling in through the open driver's side window. Dean yelped and jumped up, his eyes wild.

"Ah, sweet revenge," she mocked, a wicked smile crossing her face. Sam laughed behind them. It was a little bit of poetic justice, and it made his heart just a little less heavy.

Dean sighed in relief and bowed his head a little. "It's just you," he said, sounding as if he felt a weight off his shoulders. He went up the window and pulled her in for a kiss, thumbing her cheeks gently. His breathing was heavy and his face was a little green.

Melissa's smirk fell as she broke away and watched him. She reached in a ran a hand down the behind his ear and the nape of his neck. "Hey, Dean, don't worry. Everything's...fine," she told him, sounding a little uncertain herself. "Just, come on, we just got off the phone with Bobby."

Begrudgingly, he dragged himself from the safety of his car and leaned on it, watching Melissa shift uncomfortably on her feet and shove her hands in her back pockets. Sam eyed his brother carefully.

"Dude," Dean showed the harsh scratches on his arm to his brother, "look at this."

Melissa grabbed him and touched the red marks gently. "Jesus, Dean." _Just like the sheriff_ , she thought to herself, and suddenly it all made a lot of sense. Dean caught the disease from Al Britton, who caught it from Frank O'Brien at softball. Apparently, the thing Dean had managed to contract, ghost sickness, spread just like the flu, except it only infected people who were dicks.

And it made the patient fear everything for 24 hours, and then eventually their heart would stop. They died of fright. She shook her head a little. It always had to be down to the fucking wire.

Dean gulped and took his arm back, hearing his own heart beating. Sam handed Dean the box of donuts, only to have his brother throw them absentmindedly back into the car, as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Yeah, so, we talked to Bobby."

"And?"

"Uh, well you're not gonna like it."

"Yeah?" Dean asked impatiently, his eyes darting around in no particular direction.

"It's ghost sickness," Sam told him.

Dean frowned dejectedly. "Oh god."

"Do you even know what that is?" Melissa asked, her brows furrowed.

There was a beat of silence before Dean admitted, "No."

. . .

Melissa sneezed again and groaned. "Ugh, I am _never_ jumping into a lake again." She threw her head back against the seat of the Impala with a sigh.

"You saved a kid, y'know," Sam pointed out through his chuckles at her dramatics.

She sighed and turned to look out the window. The light was fading and the wintry evening was pinkish, but somehow watching the sky made her feel warm. "Almost didn't," she said quietly.

"But you did."

She didn't say any more, raking a hand through her hair. She felt oddly calm despite the fact that Dean had less than 24 hours before his heart would stop. Ghost sickness was a real bitch. They needed to go out and get some dinner, but Dean refused to both leave the motel or eat any fast food, so to the grocery store it was. She'd been a little nervous about leaving him all alone, but Dean had practically forced her out of the room, saying something about him being afraid he'd hurt her. She didn't question it; she knew his fever was rising by the minute.

"So…" Melissa said into the silent air. "Is this the first chance we've had to talk alone since the night you left?"

Sam sucked in a breath and kept his eyes firmly on the road. "Been waiting to bring that up, huh?"

"Just making conversation."

He scoffed. "No, you're not. I deserve it. Give me all you got."

She shook her head a little. "You don't deserve it. Let's get that outta the way first. And I already knocked you out, Sammy," she smiled weakly at him, but her face suddenly fell. "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to call you-"

"It's fine, Mel," he cut her off shortly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

She nodded at him and then tried to find her words. Again, he was able to understand some things that Dean couldn't. The months after Dean went to hell had been among the darkest of Melissa's life, and she couldn't have been feeling half as bad as Sam. There was so much she wanted to say to him. She missed when talking to him had been easy. She missed almost seeing him as a brother.

She sniffed, fight the tiredness in her eyes. She asked him a question she'd been needing the answer to for a while. She'd been able to pretty clearly see the change in the younger Winchester about a week after Dean had gotten back. "What kinda trouble did you get in, Sam?" she nearly whispered.

"What?" he asked, trying to hide his nervous energy. About two weeks before, Dean and Melissa had caught him with Ruby. Using his powers to exercise the demons. That had been one hell of a night. But they didn't know the big secret yet; the demon blood. But there was no way she could know. Was there?

"What are you talking about?" he said again.

She smiled wearily at him. "I know a junkie when I see one. What happened? Runnin' around with Ruby, dark alleys, suburban moms with a bad habit. What?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Come on, you're a bad liar. What was your poison, Sam? Sex? Drugs? Rock n' roll? You can tell me," she said calmly, trying to get it out of him. They really needed everything out in the open if they wanted to gank Lillith for good. The lies were what always destroyed them.

He shot her a look, his eyes dark. "Melissa. _Stop._ "

She chewed at her bottom lip and stared hard at him, frustrated that he wouldn't just give it up. He wasn't helping his case by reacting this way. It was how his hands shook sometimes, and how he was much paler than usual, and the way his eyes darted around the room even when there was nothing to worry about. It was the little things that she recognized, almost bringing her back in time.

"Fine, keep up this broody bullshit," she snapped, staring straight ahead. "But you and I both know you aren't gonna keep this hidden forever. And _you_ especially should know that there's gonna be hell to pay if... _when_ Dean finds out. He's not gonna understand like I will. So you might as well cough it up to me now."

He said nothing, and his expression didn't change. She smoothed down her purple flannel in frustration and sighed again.

"Just...let me help you."

Again, she was met with only silence. It was a long trip to the grocery store.

 **Author's Note:** Had a busy couple weeks, but I'm getting back on it and should have the rest of the chapter up in the next few days. Obviously we're just setting things up here, but we'll get to the juicy part soon. Please stay tuned and thank you for your patience!

Thank you for reading! I hope you're excited for the next installment. I certainly am.

Thank you SO MUCH for your reviews. Special thanks to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**LoveFiction2018**_ , _**maggilamb**_ (yours was lovely, welcome to the story, and I hope you like where I take things :)), and _**KathleenWinchester**_. Your reviews keep me going! I can't thank you enough!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought.

Peace and love.


	45. Chapter Seventeen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Cumberland Blues"** by The Grateful Dead

\- " **Moonlight Mile"** by The Rolling Stones

 **Chapter Seventeen** **:** Part Two

Back in the monkey suits for the second time, and things looked even bleaker. After Dean coughed up a bloody woodchip, they took an little trip to the local sawmill. They took an interest in a janitor that had drawings upon drawings of Frank O'Brien's wife, who had gone missing for a few weeks and turned up hanged in a motel back in the 1980s. Dean looked positively ill as they stood in the lobby of the sheriff's station and waited for the death certificate of the janitor, Luther Garland. He was visibly shaking and his slightly green skin paled under the flourescent lights. Melissa had to keep slapping his hand away from the abrasions on his arm as he tried to scratch at them.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Melissa tried to avoid the pit in her stomach. The clock was running down, and it felt all too familiar. Finally, the deputy emerged from whatever was inside the back room with a scant file folder.

"Alright, this is the Garland file," he said, handing it to Sam. He looked over at Dean, who was swaying a little on his feet, with his eyebrows raised. "Is he drunk?"

"No," Sam said firmly, piecing through the folder. "Deputy, according to this, Garland died of physical trauma. Anything more specific?"

The deputy shrugged. "The guy died twenty years ago. Before my time. Sorry."

"Can we talk to the sheriff, then?" Sam asked.

The deputy shook his head. "He's out sick today."

Sam nodded, then turned to leave. "Well, if you hear from him, will you tell him to call us? We're staying at the Bluebird, and I hope you don't mind I'm borrowing this file."

The deputy nodded politely back at Sam and the other two fake agents. Melissa cleared her throat and gave him a parting smile before loking towards the door. Dean, however, was staying put. Slowly, he raised his finger and pointed at the deputy.

"You know what?" he slurred feverishly. "You're awesome."

There was a beat of awkward silence before Melissa began dragging him out by the arm. "Alright, slugger, let's get goin.'"

. . .

Next, it was onto the nursing home where the janitor Luther Garland's brother now lived. The halls were white and sterile, and Melissa tapped anxiously on the shiny table in front of them as they questioned the brother. They'd managed to get Dean to come along, but they'd had trouble getting him to use the fake IDs. In the end, though, it all worked out.

"So, your brother, Luther, died of physical trauma?" Sam asked, gesturing to the file in front of him. Luther's brother only scoffed.

"You don't agree?" Melissa asked. It made her heart heavy to see people in nursing homes. The man before them was gaunt in his red bathrobe, sat in a wheelchair. She wondered briefly how often anyone came to visit him.

"Don't matter what an old man thinks," Luther's brother replied.

" ," Sam began softly. Dean had yet to say almost anything, roaming his eyes over the patients passing by and the winter birds outside the window. "We're just trying to get the truth about your brother's death. Please."

The man sighed, but complied. He explained how Luther was a gentle giant of sorts, but everyone was scared of him. It didn't matter how nice he was, they just judged him by his cover. "A lot of people failed Luther," he told them. "I was one of 'em. I was a widower with three young'uns. Told myself there was nothing I could do."

"Um, , do you recognize this woman?" Melissa asked, pulling out and sliding one of Luther's charcoal drawings of O'Brien's wife across the table.

He examined it for only a moment. "That's Jessie O'Brien. Her man, Frank, killed Luther."

All three hunters raised their eyebrows and stayed silent for the brother to explain. He said that when Jessie had gone missing, everyone suspected Luther. Before Frank knew Jessie had really killed herself in that motel a few towns over, Luther was found with chains around his neck. Dragged up and down the stretch of road in front of the sawmill until he was dead.

Melissa grimaced. Hell of a thing to call "physical trauma."

"O'Brien was never arrested?" Dean asked in surprise.

"I screamed at every cop in town," Luther's brother said tiredly. "They didn't wanna look into Frank. He was a pillar of the community. My brother was just the town freak."

"You must have hated Frank O'Brien," Sam said in quiet insinuation.

The brother's gaze softened as he stared back at Sam and Melissa thought she saw the corners of his mouth turn up just a bit. "I did for a long time, but life's too short for hate, son."

Melissa's eyes flashed to between Sam and Dean for a moment, as she thought vaguely of wasted time, as she heard Luther's brother continue.

"And Frank wasn't thinking straight. His wife had vanished, and he was terrified. A damn shame he had to put Luther through the same. But that's fear. It spreads and spreads."

. . .

Eventually, they figured out how to do it. They scared the ghost to death, harnessing Luther and dragging him down that road, this time with a spellwork-etched chain, with Bobby's help, of course. He was the only one who could read Japanese (which Melissa could still not get over) and it became a lot easier to find a solution when they could actually read all the resources on ghost sickness. Granted, Bobby had still not believed it would work. But when they got back to the motel, Dean was alive. The sheriff was dead on the floor, his heart having stopped during a fight with Dean. And Melissa felt bad about it, but she really hardly even cared. That sheriff had covered up Luther's murder, and sometimes even they couldn't stop karma from catching up to people. Dean was the only one on her mind. It was far too close a call. They'd had less than a minute left on the clock when Luther finally disappeard.

Needless to say, they got the hell outta dodge soon after. It didn't look very good to have a dead sheriff in your motel room. They stood together on the side of a country road about an hour outside of the town. Melissa marveled slightly at the mountains around her as she wrapped the bloody abrasions on Dean's arms and Bobby and Sam sipped on their beers, leaning up against the cars. The sun was setting, but it wasn't as cold as Melissa thought it would be, considering it was November in Colorado. But her hands still trembled as she spun the gauze around Dean's forearms.

"You're shaking," Dean said quietly, looking exhausted. She didn't know what had happened to him while they were out scaring Luther. All she knew was at one point the sheriff hd shown up, and Dean had watched the man's heart give out before his eyes. But something was wrong. His smirk didn't reach his eyes as he looked down at her.

"And you have road rash, we've all got problems," she mumbled in reponse, finally pulling down the sleeves of his brown leather.

Sam smiled a little. "That we do."

Bobby sighed in his normal grouchy way before throwing his beer bottle down the hill over the guardrail on the side of the road, and walked back toward his old junker, giving them a quiet, casual wave.

"Drive safe. Until next time," he said gruffly, and drove away without another word. Usually Bobby's goodbyes were longer, but Melissa suspected all of them were feeling a little heavy at such a close call. Her chest was feeling a little tight, but she tried to shrug it off.

So, then there were three. They leaned against Baby taking a moment to breathe a little before they had to get back in the saddle, off to the next death wish. Dean took Melissa's cold hand in his own. Sam sighed wistfully, his hair blowing behind him in the nippy breeze.

"So, uh…" Sam looked over at Dean, "what did you see? Near the end, I mean."

Dean avoided Sam's eyes and Melissa looked off down the road. The leaves were shades of red and orange, and she felt a little nostalgic for long Southern autumns. There was almost no winter in Georgia.

"Oh, besides a cop beating my ass?" Dean quipped, trying to shrug it off.

"Seriously."

Dean looked over at his brother. Melissa felt Dean's hand tighten around her own, but she didn't know why.

"Howler monkeys," Dean told him earnestly. "A whole room full of 'em. Those things creep the hell outta me."

Melissa snickered and Sam only rolled his eyes with a small, but disbelieving, smile. "Right," he said.

"No, just the usual stuff, Sammy," Dean said a little more honestly, but didn't say anything more specific. "Nothing I can't handle."

. . .

With both of them showered and Sam seemingly asleep in the room next to theirs, Melissa and Dean were feeling a little less panicked. Melissa softly hummed a _Journey_ song to herself, Dean dozing on the bed with one of Melissa's mixtapes crooning to him through his big headphones. Damn, those things sure could put him to sleep. Melissa ran her hands through her dark, damp hair as she waited for the spaghetti in the pot to finally be done. They thought about fast food, but everyone ultimately decided something they cooked themselves, even something small like pasta, felt better tonight for some reason. Strangely, Sam had opted to skip dinner, saying he was too exhausted even to eat. Melissa didn't buy it, but said nothing. The day had been long enough. She tugged at the sleeves of Dean's flannel, her legs bare but not all that cold. She couldn't get Sam off her mind. She hadn't had too much time to think about it in the past day, but it was always nagging at her. She knew almost for sure now. He was on something, or had been. But she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he wouldn't just fess up. It made her wonder how far gone he was.

She shook her head as she fixed their dinner, deciding just to eat in bed instead of the table. Her legs were a little wobbly underneath her with her fatigue. She had barely slept for the past 48 hours. Shaking his shoulder, Melissa backed away for a seond as Dean's eyes shot open, ripping his headphones off.

"Easy, tiger," she smirked at him half-heartedly. He smiled a little back at her, thanking her quietly as she passed him a bowl. She never thought she'd seen him act so worn out before. His hair was messed up and there were dark circles under his eyes, his skin ghostly, for lack of a better word.

"You sure you're feeling better?" she asked, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. He took her hand away and brought it into his own.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. His silence was starting to freak her out. "You seem...weird."

"I'm good, Missy. Nothing I can't handle," he repeated. She rolled her eyes. Both the Winchester boys really needed to start dealing with their issues.

. . .

"Hey," she heard Dean say, running a hand down her arm. She fought a groan as she cracked her eyes open to the moonlit room on the outskirts of Colorado. "Are you awake?" he asked her.

"No," she slurred, hardly concious at all. There was a beat of silence. She sighed and cleared her throat.

She rolled over, turning to face him, rubbing at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm up, I'm up. What's wrong?"

He couldn't look at her, but she saw tear tracks down his cheeks. She ran a hand through his hair down behind his ear, and she felt him shiver like always. He still didn't look up at her. For a moment, she took his protection necklace in her hand, her fingers brushing his chest. She ran her thumb over it, a crease between her eyesbrows. She only wanted him safe. But it was probably the most unattainable wish in the universe.

"Dean," she said, throwing an arm over his freckled shoulder and inching closer to him under the cool covers, her bare legs resting against his. "Tell me."

"I need you to know what happened in hell."

 **Author's Note:** This is a little late, but here it is! Don't worry, I won't leave you on a cliffhanger for too long. ;) I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!

A speacial thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**maggilamb**_ , _**LoveFiction2018**_ , _**KathleenWinchester**_ , and _**Eos Raidekin**_ for your lovely reviews! You all are always very patient, and your feedback is my biggest motivation. Thank you so much! Also, _**Eos Raidekin**_ , welcome to the story and thank you for your review! Melissa's 'episode' doesn't happen until season five, but don't worry, we'll get there. ;)

I was thinking of replying to each review individually, something I've seen my fellow author _**Tinker16**_ do that I think is wonderful. Also, please check them out, their Doctor Who stories are a MUST READ. But, what do y'all think of that? Please, let me know.

Anyway, PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	46. Chapter Seventeen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- _"_ **Once I Was"** by Tim Buckley

 **Chapter Seventeen : **Part Three

By the end of it, Dean was the only one left speechless. Tears streamed down his face and he held the protection charm on his necklace tightly in his grasp. The light was on, and both hunters sat up against the worn headboard of the motel bed. Melissa bit her bottom lip as she watched Dean's shoulders shake. He refused to meet her eyes. It was the most broken she had ever seen him.

He'd tortured souls. So many that he lost count. But Melissa wasn't so shocked about that. They seemed to torture souls all the time. Monster souls, sure, but souls nonetheless. Souls of the damned. What surprised her the most was how long he'd held out. Thirty fucking years. She couldn't imagine. She knew consciously she maybe should've cared more about the torturing, but she just couldn't bring herself to. Dean had done probably the most human thing of all; he'd folded. It didn't surprise her. He was the most human man she'd ever encountered. She hadn't said a word as he told her through his broken gasps. She knew he needed time to get it all out. He'd been holding it all in this whole time. She understood it know. The drinking and the distance.

She moved to put an arm around his shoulder, but he flinched away.

"You shouldn't touch me," he said, his voice rasped and gravelly.

"Dean, don't you dare," she warned softly and went through with her motions. His heart was beating hard against his ribs. She could practically hear it. She put a hand to his chest as his head came tentatively to her shoulder.

"This, Dean Winchester, is the best heart I know," she said softly.

"Stop it," he begged her, no longer sobbing but still with tears leaking down his cheeks. But her hair smelled familiar and the gentle caresses of her fingers on his arm and chest made him breathe again.

"No, you're gonna shut up for a second," she replied, staring ahead into the darkness. "I've met so many monsters in my life, Dean. _You_ are not one of them. You save my life everyday, and I will love you no matter what."

"Oh, don't do that," he groaned, just a little playfully. "Don't quote me to me."

"I will if you need to hear it," she said with a little giggle. Her hand stayed on his chest, feeling his heart slow. "Hey," she said gently, taking his chin in one hand and bringing him up to face her, gazing into his watery green eyes. "I mean it. I love you no matter what. And if you ever die again, I'll fucking kill you."

His face spread in a slightly dazed, wide grin. This was pretty much the opposite of the reaction he'd been expecting. "Ditto," he said.

She smiled back. "Did you just quote Swayze? From _Ghost_ , no less?"

"Hey, if it's Swayze, it don't cou-"

She cut him off with a long kiss, and that was the end of the discussion.

 **Author's Note:** I'm so sorry. I said I wouldn't leave you on a cliffhanger too long and then I was gone for two weeks! It's been the most trying and most busy weeks of 2018 for me so far. I am really gonna try to update more regularly from now on. Thanks for sticking with me!

Special thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , _**x3sunnydaay**_ , _**LoveFiction2018**_ , and _**KittyBear98**_ (Thank you so much for your lovely review and welcome to the story!) for your amazing reviews. Again, I can't say it enough, thank you.

I hope you like this installment! (Next one will be longer I promise.) Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	47. Chapter Eighteen: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Orange Blossom Special"** by Johnny Cash

\- " **Forget the Flowers"** by Wilco

 **Chapter Eighteen** **:** Part One

Sat under the glow of the greenish lights at the seedy bar, Melissa hummed along to the Johnny Cash song and sipped at her drink. It was nearly Christmas, but she didn't feel anywhere near festive. It was hot in Arizona, even more so while they finished a salt and burn. And the seals were breaking left and right. At Halloween, they'd watched a witch call the demon Samhain to rise. Of course, they'd attempted to stop it. And of course, they'd failed. And the angels were being real dicks about it.

The elusive Castiel, the one that often only came to Dean in his dreams, appeared with a "specialist" angel named Uriel and planned on smiting the town where Samhain was set to appear. The hunters had managed to stop the angels, but the seal was broken despite their efforts. The only reason they were alive was because Sam had whipped out the demon mojo at the last second and held Samhain off. It was impressive, but it made Melissa feel sick to her stomach. Something was still off about Sam. Very off. But she still couldn't figure out exactly what his poison was. Although, she was fairly certain that whatever it was, he was still using it.

Uriel apparently also was not a fan of Sam's powers, and threatened to kill him if something like that ever happened again. _Like Hell_ , was what Melissa had told him at the time, but somehow she had almost believed him. The angels were no angels. According to Dean, though, Castiel later admitted to him some doubts in the angels' plan. The smiting and the fighting a losing battle. That the rising of Samhain had been a test of Dean under 'battlefield conditions,' but no one knew if he had passed. Honestly, it was a little much for Melissa to handle, and she often had a headache just thinking about it. Angels having lapses in faith was something she had not expected. But she repeated past words to herself sometimes, ones that weren't exactly more comforting, but made her feel more driven. She had known _exactly_ what she was getting into when she joined the Winchesters. They meant chaos. They meant nearly watching the world burn.

No matter how much she missed the days alone in the red truck, she knew somehow she was meant to be here. She was meant to save their lives everyday. Even if sometimes she felt a little like a third wheel. Or even a fourth, if Bobby was around. But she knew she wasn't just helping them. Now that she knew what it was like to have someone, and to feel wanted. She knew she would never go back. She needed them something fierce, or else she would go crazy.

Dean fiddled with the ends of Melissa's hair as they sat together in the booth, her head on his shoulder now as the drinks made her sleepy. They watched Sam as he hustled pool. And for a moment he almost felt like they were normal. Like they hadn't burned some pour bastard's bones a couple hours before. Like they weren't facing an apocalypse. He couldn't help the goosebumps that rose on the back of his neck thinking of the way Castiel had spoken to him after the rising of Samhain.

(" _Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" the angel had asked._

" _Okay," Dean then replied, looking out over the playground as Sam checked them out and Melissa finished packing up her things, having woken up late as always. Those kids playing with their parents, they were still alive because of him. But the seal was broken. And soon, because of him, there may be no playgrounds like this left at all._

" _I am not...a hammer, as you say," the trenchcoated angel confessed, his elbows on his knees as he sat next to Dean on the bench. "I have questions. I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make."_

 _Castiel paused a moment, then turned to look Dean straight in the eye. "I don't envy the weight that is on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't.")_

Dean had broken his promise that night, revealing Castiel's doubts to Melissa, but still leaving out the last part. It made his insides crawl. He didn't want to know what was coming for them.

"Think it might be 'bout time for the last round," Melissa broke Dean out of his thoughts, tipping her beer forward to Sam at the pool table, acting as drunk as he could. Next, she knew, he would sober up and double the winnings.

"He really _is_ good at that," Dean smirked at his little brother. Melissa could feel the rumblings of Dean's voice with her shoulder on his chest. "But I think I got him beat."

She snorted. "Yeah, whatever gets you through the night, silver medal."

He kissed her hair. "Shut up."

"Never," she yawned.

He laughed. "Are you really that tired already? It's like, one," he said, squinting at his old watch.

She nodded but said nothing, closing her eyes and snuggling into him closer. He kissed her hair again, rubbing her arm gently. They were a mess of flannel and exhaustion. There was hardly enough time for sleep anymore; sleep wasn't important when you were staring down the barrel of the apocalypse. But she smelled a vague mixture of alcohol, old spice, and worn leather as she laid against Dean. There was country on the radio. And that was all she had in the moment; it was all she needed. He smelled like home now.

"Oh, I have another one," Dean said brightly, sipping his cheap beer.

"Shoot," she murmured, not opening her eyes and knowing exactly what he was talking about. They had never stopped playing twenty questions.

"Favorite movie quote of all time," he replied.

"I feel like we've done this one before," she giggled, her mind getting smudged around the edges.

"You're drunk," he smiled, watching Sam continue to wrap up his hustle. "I feel like your answer will be different when you're drunk. The last time all you said was 'the entirety of _Spinal Tap_.'"

"I'm not drunk," she insisted stubbornly. He smirked. He saw the proof in the hot, red patches that bloomed on her collarbone, the way they always did when she was getting tipsy.

"Whatever you wanna believe, darlin,'" he snorted.

She hummed against his chest, thinking for a moment. "Have you ever seen _It's A Wonderful Life_?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Well," she said clearing her throat and sitting up to face him, still resting her hand on his shoulder. "There's a scene towards the end, when George Bailey's little girl gets a cold because she carries a flower home from school with her coat unbuttoned," she explained, her words slurring together slightly.

Her hair was pulled back and a few of the strands had fallen around her face. Her cheeks were drunkenly flushed but her eyes looked oddly clear. Dean smirked lovingly at her, pushing the strands from her forehead. "Go on," he urged, missing Melissa when she was happy drunk. He hadn't seen her like this in a while. He was still on his first beer, not even buzzed. He knew tonight Melissa needed a little fun. A little time to forget. They both had nightmares, but last night she had been mentioning Allen as she tossed and turned. She was always a bit farther away from him after nights like those.

"Okay, and then George goes up to her room and tells her to sleep, even though she keeps telling him how she wants to let her flower drink and take care of it. So, to get her to go down, he tells her, 'You just go to sleep, and you can dream about it, and it'll be a whole garden,'" she said wistfully.

"Zuzu's petals," Dean muttered, remembering little bits of the Christmas flick he had been forced into watching by Bobby when he was about eleven.

She gave him a goofy grin. "Exactly. Isn't it beautiful?"

He'd never heard her speak this way before. Almost in awe. He knew it was the alcohol, but she almost had the wonder of a child in her eyes. A little glimmer that had long since faded. He didn't know why it was only returning to tonight.

"I love you," he blurted out softly, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled giddily into it, but pulled away with a bubbly giggle and a hand on his chest.

"Wait, I need to know yours," she told him.

"Ummm," he said, looking up at the light for a moment with his hands placed on her waist. "'Nobody puts Baby in a corner.'"

She laughed, her head thrown back as it almost never was. She was the one who pulled him in this time, almost fully making out with him in the corner of the bar. He broke away, a little breathless, not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves. Not that it really mattered, it was just an instinct he'd developed over the years.

"You are gonna feel so sick tomorrow," he warned, bringing her to rest on his shoulder again. No matter how much she denied it, she really was a lightweight when it came to dark liquor.

"As long as I remember how I feel right now," she sighed, nodding off again, "I'm sure I'll be just fine."

He chuckled a little, knowing how much of a lie that was, and hearing the Georgia girl in her voice. Good lord, was she beautiful. Sometimes Dean had to stop and marvel at how perfect she was. He never thought he would meet her. _The_ one. He shook his head to himself as she started falling asleep on him, _Damn, I'm going soft_.

But maybe it was a good thing. It was only after Hell that he felt like he could really understand the fragility of his life, and hers. They were soldiers, and he needed to memorize all of her. He needed to know all of her. He turned to Sam again, watching him place five hundred down on the side of the pool table. For a moment, he sunk several balls, his drunkenness gone. But then, he looked up and his smile faded. Dean furrowed his brows as he thought he saw his brother say, "Keep the money."

Sam started to walk to the other end of the bar, still staring sternly ahead. Dean grabbed the cuff of his sleeve as he walked past the booth. "Keep the money?!" he asked in exasperation.

The younger Winchester looked down at his brother for a moment, and then nodded behind him. Dean strained to look over his shoulder, and his eyes darkened as he saw Ruby standing there, her arms crossed and her feet set in her usual smug stance.

"Missy," he shook her back to reality. She looked up at him again groggily, her face falling when she saw his expression. "We've got company."

 **Author's Note:** Here's a little midweek update for you. Hope you enjoy!

Special thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews! Thanks you so much and I hope you're having a wonderful week!

Thank you all so much for reading!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	48. Chapter Eighteen: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 _-_ **"Gold Dust Woman"** by Fleetwood Mac

 **Chapter Eighteen** **:** Part Two

She sighed sleepily, but obliged when Dean pulled her up out of the booth, his arm wrapped around her waist to steady her. Her eyes flashed in anger when she looked up to see Ruby. It had been a while since the last time the two of them had met, but Melissa knew that Ruby was involved with whatever the hell was happening to Sam. It only reminded her of the months without Dean, but also of the day Dean had come back. When Sam and Dean had hugged in the motel room. Melissa was still pissed she hadn't realized Ruby was the scatily-clad woman who opened the door for them. Her name certainly was not 'Kristy.' It reminded her that she hardly ever knew Sam anymore.

"You've got a lotta nerve showin' up anywhere near us," Dean growled as they approached the demon. He could see Melissa was doing her best not to freak out, and to act sober, but she wasn't doing a very good job at either.

"I just have some info," Ruby rolled her eyes, "and then I'm gone."

"Gone for good, I hope, you gutter-slut," Melissa snapped, actually not slurring too much. Dean gripped her a little tighter, though. She was starting to wobble a little.

"Back off," Ruby muttered at her, and kept going before Melissa could respond. "I've been hearing a few whispers."

"Oh, great, demon-whispers," Dean grinned sarcastically. "Those are real reliable."

Ruby had mostly turned to Sam at this point. "Girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently, some real heavy-hitters are out for the Easter egg hunt."

"Why?" Sam piped up. "Who is she?"

"No idea," Ruby returned. "But I'm thinkin' she's important, because the order's to keep her alive. I just figured, whatever the deal is, you guys might wanna find her before the demons do."

Sam glanced between his demon ally (it didn't even feel weird saying it in his head anymore), and his brother's eyes. Melissa was staring off at something else. She really was no help drunk.

"Look," he sighed, "maybe we should check it out."

"Actually," Dean shot Sam a look and then turned back to Ruby, "we're workin' a case right now, but thanks."

"What case?" she asked.

"Uh," Dean floundered for a moment, "we've got leads. Big leads."

"Sounds dangerous," Ruby replied, then nodded over at Melissa. "Is that why you got _Requiem For A Dream_ over here sloshed?"

"Fuck you," Melissa retorted, her eyes glazing over. She couldn't remember how much she drank, but her mind was starting to ache. The hangover was coming already.

"Creative," Ruby scoffed.

Dean took a little step backward, taking Melissa with him. "Yeah, well, I ain't goose-chasin' after some chick, who, for all we know, doesn't even exist, just becuase you say she's important."

"I'm just delivering the news," Ruby said begrudgingly. "You can do whatever you want with it. As far as I'm concerned, I told you, I'm done."

She began to walk away, but Sam caught her. "Wait, wait, wait. This hospital she broke outta-it got a name?"

. . .

Goddam, were the country roads bumpy. Melissa breathed deeply, the back of her hand placed over her mouth gently with her elbow resting on the Impala's window ledge. Her headache was ebbing away, but she had to focus on the road ahead, lit dimly in the early morning hours, to keep her stomach steady. She'd managed a couple hours' drunken sleep when they first got in the car, headed to the hospital despite Dean's protests. But now it was Sam's turn, and he snored softly in the backseat.

While Melissa was out, Sam had called the police station up in Montana to make sure the Milton girl was real, and sure enough, a missing persons report had been filed the day before. Dean was mildly pissed, but it had been a few hours at this point, so his knuckles were no longer white as he gripped the steering wheel. It was a three-day drive, so he'd have plenty of time to fight with Sam anyway. His hand rested on Melissa's thigh and he glanced over at her every few seconds.

"You're still lookin' a little green in the gills," he said. Her skin was a ghostly pale and her eyes were glassy. He'd made her drink a coupe bottles of water, but she didn't seem quite up to snuff yet.

"I'm fine, gorgeous," she told him softly, staring out the window. There was a beat of silence and she took his hand, smiling over at him half-heartedly. "Trust me."

"Yeah, but there's something else, ain't there?" he raised his eyebrows. "Something's bothering you, I can see it."

"How can you see it?" she asked a little defensively. It was Sam. Seeing Ruby against had dredged everything up.

"I've known you a long time, Missy," he said. "I know your looks."

"My looks?"

"Yeah."

She huffed out a breath and ran a hand through her hair restlessly. "It's just-"

"Yeah…?"

Sniffing, she bit at her lips and tried again. "Something's up with Sam."

He laughed bitterly. "Tell me about it."

"No," she said more seriously this time, looking over at him. "Dean, I think something happened when you were gone and he was out there on his own. Or with Ruby, or whatever. I think he was on something."

Dean took his hand from hers and glanced in the rearview mirror at his little brother. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

She cleared her throat and flushed a little, feeling embarrassed for no particular reason. "I was addicted to heroin, right? And I...just...I'm seeing some things in Sam that...remind me of the way I was."

"You think Sam's addicted to heroin?" Dean blurted out, his eyes widening as he looked over at her again.

"I didn't say it was heroin. There's a helluva lotta things to be addicted to. Money, sex, hunting? But I dunno, it feels like something to me. But he wouldn't give it up."

"You talked to him already?!" he asked, raising his voice a little. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Shhh!" she scolded, putting a hand on his arm. "I was just trying to get him to come clean himself. I'm just tired of the fucking lies, Dean. Clearly that ain't workin' though."

"You shoulda told me," he said sourly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She was tired of being the mediator between them. "Yeah, well, maybe you shoulda told me before you decided to sell your soul!"

Jaw tightened and knuckles turning white again, Dean said nothing. She sighed at herself. It was a low blow, but she was apparently terrible at not letting things slip out.

"Dean, I-"

"Don't."

Listening to the quiet hum of the road beneath them, neither of them spoke for awhile after that. Melissa blinked away the teariness in her eyes after a few minutes, but she didn't dare look over at Dean.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that," she said quietly, trying her best to make out the words on the streetsigns as they passed them and admiring the vivid colors of the winter sunrise. It was things like that sunrise that reminded her the world wasn't just full of monsters.

"You never mean it, but you always say it," he replied after a second. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, choosing to ignore Melissa's wards about Sam. Of course he'd noticed the change in his brother since coming back from hell, but it wasn't like Melissa hadn't changed too. It wasn't like they all hadn't.

"And what would you have done if I had told you about this first?" Melissa asked him, doing her best not to wake Sam, though she also knew that kid could probably sleep through a tornado. "You would've gone in on him guns blazing. And y'know what, Dean? I think he woulda left again."

Dean thought for a moment. "No, we just got to all be back together again. He wouldn't do that."

"Really? Because it's pretty clear to me that the only thing keepin' him with us is you," she snapped at him. She knew she'd said he was forgiven a million times, but there were just some days when it all came rushing a back to her. And she saw Sam like he'd just left her alone in the motel room. "And if y'all start whatever is brewing beneath the surface, I'd bet my life he'll split."

He sighed and ran a hand over his face dejectedly. "I don't wanna talk about this."

"Fine," she bit out, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let's just ignore it until it becomes a big fucking problem."

"Sounds like a plan," he shot back.

Again, charged silence consumed them. Melissa tugged at her sleeves and turned the heat up a little. Dean didn't take his eyes off the road for one second. She rested her head against the cool glass and saw the images from her dream the night before. Allen on fire and Rosie's heart on a plate for the werewolf. The screams. She also remembered something about jumping in a lake again, but she couldn't quite place it. And she remembered waking up the next morning with Dean's arm slung over her waist, and the protection charm against his bare chest. And how he was always so warm.

When she lifted her head up again, Dean jumped a little. He thought for sure she would've dozed off.

"I'm sorry about what I said...about selling your soul and everything," she spoke, swallowing her pride.

"It's okay," he said after a moment, showing cracks in his hard exterior.

"So...what's _your_ favorite movie quote of all time?" she asked, and was relieved when she finally saw the corners of his mouth turn up. She was definitely ready for the mood to shift, just for a little while.

"I told you already."

"Hey, I told you my real one, you gotta tell me yours. Quid pro quo, Clarice."

"Why do you hafta talk about _Silence of the Lambs_ at a time like this?" he groaned, but when he glanced over a moment later he only saw her expectant eyes. "Okay, fine. But I'm really not drunk enough for this."

"I was not _that_ drunk," she insisted.

"I had to hold onto you to keep you vertical," he laughed.

"Quit stalling. Cough it up, Winchester."

He sighed with a little smile, and finally relented. "Okay fine. You know _Shawshank Redemption_?"

"It's Stephen King, so hell yeah."

"It was one of my dad's favorties," he explained almost dreamily. It struck Melissa how quickly the mood could shift between them sometimes. "I watched it a few times that week we were at Bobby's...right after everything. Mighta worn out the VHS."

"Bobby and his damn VHS collection," Melissa said warmly.

"Anyway, there's this part where Red says, 'I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged.' And I don't know, it always reminded me of you and Sammy."

She furrowed her brows a little. "Why?"

He smiled sheepishly, sometimes still feeling embarrassed about opening his heart, even with her. "I know I smother you guys sometimes. But that's just love. But I know that if I'm gonna keep on lovin' you the way I do, I'm gonna have to get used to you marching to the beat of your own drummer."

She took his hand again but said nothing, coming to rest on his shoulder.

"And Sammy, when he went to Stanford, I thought he'd never come back. And you, hell, I _never_ thought you'd come back, let alone become part of the family," he chuckled fondly, but still felt a dull, nearly forgotten ache in his heart thinking of the times the most important people in his life had left him. "So if that ever happes again. I just gotta say it to myself...and it'll be a little better."

She shut her eyes once more, her headache nearly gone. "Look at you. Spoken like a true Swayze fan."

"Shaddup," he replied lovingly. And after Melissa dozed off, she slept soundly. There were no mutterings. But Dean could only stare worriedly towards the road ahead.

 **Author's Note:** Ther ya go! I hope you enjoyed reading! Next time, there's gonna be a little more action, I promise.

Special thanks goes to _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your review. Thank you so much!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	49. Chapter Eighteen: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- **"Fighting My Way Back"** by Thin Lizzy

 **Chapter Eighteen** **:** Part Three

Gun cocked in front of her, Melissa followed Sam and Dean up the creaky stairs of the church. She could still smell the antiseptic on her collar from the psych ward. The orderly at the hospital Anna Milton had broken out of had told them her father was a church deacon, and her sudden 'delusions' had religious overtones. She'd thought there were demons everywhere, and that the devil was going to rise. In her sketchbook, she drew the rising of the witnesses and the summoning of Samhain. She knew the real revelations. And in the same book, they found about a million drawings of the same church window. Over and over again in scribbled colors, looking almost replicated by a machine. It creeped Melissa out in a way she didn't expect; it made her wonder if the demons had turned off her mind, or if she had turned off her mind to escape the demons.

Everything came together when they visited Anna's house, only to be met with the stench of sulfur and Anna's parents dead on the floor. One of the pictures broken in the altercation, which judging by the warmth of the bodies had only happened a couple hours before, showed Anna and her father in front of their church. With the same window from the picture. So, it led them a few streets over to a rather large and beautiful cathedral. It even had an attic. Melissa thought it about the opposite of the dusty old building standing at the center of town in Lake Peachtree, Georgia. But the way it felt so pristine made her unsettled.

A sweep of the bottom floor turned up nothing, so they all made their way cautiously up the stairs. They just needed to find her, then they'd be able to know how the hell she'd seen the broken seals. It almost made Melissa wonder if everyone knew, in a subconscious way. Could the ordinary people feel the oncoming storm? But then, who really was ordinary?

They all went to different corners of the musty attic, light streaming through the stained glass. Melissa was approaching what looked like a broom closet, her gun still drawn, when Sam called from across the room, by the large window and the old, cracked statue of an angel.

"Dean...Melissa…" he said, lowering his gun and watching the space behind the statue. Melissa's weapon was still drawn as they both walked over cautiously. The world was crawling with demons these days, and you could never be too careful. Never caught without your gun.

"Anna?" Sam asked, furrowing his brows as he watched the small figure inch her way out from behind the angel. Melissa finally lowered her gun when she saw the woman, knowing by the fear in her eyes she wasn't a monster. She was beautiful, with porcelain skin in stark contrast to her deep red hair. Her frame was thin and she rubbed at her arms nervously as she walked towards them.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help you," Sam said softly, all three hunters now with their guns lowered. "We're here to help. My name's Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, Melissa."

"Sam?" Anna repeated tentatively. "Not Sam Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah?" Sam answered.

"And you're Dean? The Dean?" she said in awe now.

Dean gave a satisfied little smirk. "Well, I guess. The Dean."

Melissa scoffed at his mock pomp, but her face fell when Anna pointed at her. "And Melissa Lowry. The one who kills the demons."

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable under Anna's gaze. Eventually, the red-headed girl turned back to Dean.

"It's really you," Anna breathed. "Oh, my god. The angels talk about you. You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us."

Dean, too, felt uneasy at her words as she looked back to Sam.

"Some of them don't like you at all," Anna told the younger Winchester. "They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you."

"So, you talk to angels?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no. No way. They're probably don't even know I exist," Anna said, looking away and down at her feet. "They probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of...overhear them."

"You overhear them?" Sam repeated, his brows furrowed.

"Yeah, they talk. Sometimes I just...hear them in my head," she told them, increasingly shy. Melissa wondered when she'd last had a good meal, remembering the harsh lighting of the psych ward.

"Like...right now?" Dean chimed in.

"Not right this second, but a lot. And I just can't shut them out," Anna spoke, still not looking at them, her face troubled. "There are so many of them."

"So, they lock you up with a case of the crazies...when really you're just tuning in to angel radio?" Melissa asked, all the pieces laid out in front of them.

"Yes," Anna smiled up at her sheepishly. "Thank you."

Melissa crossed her arms but nodded kindly at the young woman. She could see the pain in Anna. It was written all over her face.

"Anna? Do you remember when the voices started?" Sam said, his voice taking on the air of concern it always did when they were talking to victims. It meant less to Melissa hearing it now, after all she'd seen from him.

"I can tell you exactly: September 18th."

Melissa's eyes shot to Dean in confusion. "The day they cut you loose."

"Yeah," he mumbled absently in response, staring ahead at Anna, hoping to find the answer in her.

"First words I heard," Anna said. "Clear as a bell. 'Dean Winchester is saved.'"

Dean turned to Sam. "What do you think?"

The younger Winchester only shrugged. "It's above my paygrade, man."

Dean blew out a sigh. "Well, at least we know why the demons want you so bad. You're 1-800-ANGEL."

There was a period of pensive silence. Melissa walked a little closer to Anna, studying her careworn face and the fearful way she stood. The light was starting to burn into mid-afternoon through the rosy glass of the window, and Melissa's hangover was completely gone. She was awake, definitely awake. She didn't know what it was, but the way Anna spoke, and her eyes, they reminded her almost instantly of Rosie. Though for the first few minutes she hadn't been able to place the familiarity in her stomach.

"Hey, um," Anna cleared her throat and spoke up again meekly, "do you know...are my parents okay? I didn't go home. I was afraid."

Melissa's eyes dropped, biting her lip. It was perhaps the hardest news in the world to break to someone. But before any of the three hunters could answer, Ruby interrupted.

"Good, you got the girl," the demon's voice cut through the air sharply as she came up the steps and everyone turned to her. "Let's go."

"Her face!" Anna gasped. Melissa could only imagine the grotesque monster underneath Ruby's pretty mask. She remembered the look in Dean's eyes when he'd seen the demons' real faces the night before he went to hell.

Melissa came closer to Anna and put her hand on the girl's arm, just a small gesture to show she was there too. A human just like her. The girl who hears the angels and the girl who kills the demons.

"It's okay," Sam assured her. "She's here to help."

"Don't be so sure," Dean sneered, backing up a little from the demon. Melissa could feel goosebumps form on Anna's skin under her palm at Dean's words. She slipped her hand down to squeeze Anna's.

"We have to hurry," Ruby said, ignoring Dean and again mostly just speaking to Sam. Something about the serious tone in her voice made Melissa nervous.

"Why?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"Because a demon's coming. A big-timer," Ruby said with a trademark eyeroll. "We can fight later, Dean."

"Well, that's pretty convenient," Dean snapped. "Showing up right when we got the girl with some bigwig on your tail?!"

"I didn't bring her here!" Ruby yelled back. "You did."

"What?" Dean asked.

"He followed you here from the girl's house," the demon replied in agitation. "And we gotta go, now."

Before his brother could respond, Sam chimed in. "Guys," he alerted them, pointing to that ancient statue of the angel, its eyes now crying tears of blood.

"We're too late," Ruby announced. "He's here."

Immediately, they went into fight mode. Melissa squeezed Anna's hand harder and dragged her to the broom closet. Just before shutting the door completely, Melissa tried to flash her at least an okay imitation of a reassuring smile.

"Just stay here and stay quiet," Melissa urged softly. "Everything's gonna be fine."

Turning back to the group, Melissa felt for the gun in the back of her jeans and watched Sam pull out his old flask of holy water. She stopped short when Sam's little demon girlfriend (or whatever she was) spoke again.

Ruby shook her head. "No, Sam, you gotta pull him right away."

"Whoa, wait a sec," Dean stepped forwards to the demon. He'd had about enough of Sam's mojo lately.

"Now is not the time to bellyache over Sam going darkside," Ruby scolded before Dean could get too close to her. "He does his thing, he exorcises the demon, or we die."

Dean clenched his jaw, but said nothing, his fist tightening around the demon-knife. Not another word was uttered before the demon swept his way up the stairs, his footfalls heavy and the smile on his pale face sinister as he approached them. He was not quite tall, with light hair and cold eyes. Melissa wondered vaguely what his real face was like. She was at the back of the group, half-guarding the door to the broom closet. She watched Sam raise his hand, the side of his face that was exposed to her contorting in concentration. But nothing happened. The black smoke didn't emerge, and there was no triumph. Only silence.

"That tickles," the demon mocked with a smirk. "You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam."

He threw Sam back with the flick of his finger, straight into the mirror behind him. Melissa lunged next, feeling a tug in her heart thinking of the girl in the closet, and her parents dead on the floor back at what had once been her home. She went just with her fists though, her gun tucked back into her waistband. If Sam's mind couldn't do the trick, regular bullets wouldn't be any good. It really was no use anyway, but hell if she wasn't going down without some sort of fight. Maybe it was foolish, but she was a hunter, after all.

Really, the goal was just to distract the demon while Dean made sure Sam still had a pulse. They didn't know the level of this demon's bite. She actually got a few punches in before he knocked her back against the wall with a vicious punch, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her a little. White flecks danced before her in her vision as the air left her, her eyes beginning to burn.

"Hey!" she heard Dean yell. The demon glanced back and almost shrugged as he did his little trick and knocked her to the ground with a flick of his finger.

Finally, she went down, tasting the blood in her mouth and seeing stars as she coughed and her head smacked against the old wooden floor of the attic. She thought she saw Ruby grab Anna from the closet, and Dean come at the demon with the knife. It took her a moment to even comprehend her surroundings, though, the wind having been knocked out of her.

"Hello again, Dean," she demon may have said, judging by the movement of his lips.

There was a sickening, throbbing ring in her ears, but Melissa eventually forced herself up. Dean was losing the fight. She started to finally make out what the demon was snarling in the older Winchester's face as she hobbled up and over to them.

"Come on, don't you remember me?" the demon asked condescendingly in between blows. "Oh, I forgot. I'm wearing a pediatrician. But we were so close. In Hell."

A little ways across the room from Melissa, Sam inched closer to the demon, Dean's dropped knife in his grasp. He raised a brow at Melissa in askance as they crept up, and she nodded back vehemently.

"Alastair," Dean seemed to realize, his face spreading in a bitter, bloody grin.

Sam came up behind the demon, Alastair apparently, and stabbed him earnestly in the side. Slowly, very slowly, Alastair turned back towards Sam as all three hunters scrambled away, dangerously close to the stained glass window.

"You're gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that, son," Alastair spoke with an unsettling evenness.

Glancing back and forth between the scene behind them and the window in front of them, a Winchester on either side of her, Melissa made the decision. She grabbed the boys by their sleeves, and together, they jumped.

 **Author's Note:** Trust me, I'm uploading as much as I can. All I ask is that you stay with me! We'll get there, I promise! I hope you enjoyed this installment and thanks for reading. More soon!

Thank you so much to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews on the last chapter!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	50. Chapter Eighteen: Part Four

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 _-_ **"I Heard It Through The Grapevine"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

\- **"Ready For Love"** by Bad Company

\- **"Straight To Hell"** by The Clash

\- **"Wild Horses"** by The Rolling Stones

 **Chapter Eighteen** **:** Part Four

Melissa's cheek bloomed with purple and blue, and and bruised fingertips were beginning to show on her pale neck. She'd had to pop Dean's shoulder back into its socket and sew up the gash in Sam's arm upon arriving back at the motel, but considering they'd just jumped out of an attic they were relatively unscathed. Though, Melissa's ankle did hurt like a motherfucker from where they'd landed. She didn't mention it. There were bigger fish to fry. It took about all of two seconds for them to be done getting cleaned up before Ruby showed up at the door to their motel room in a maid's meat suit, telling them the demons were on their asses again and they needed to meet her at some cabin in the woods where she was holding Anna. Totally not creepy at all. God, Melissa hoped the next hunt would just be a salt and burn.

After a couple hours, they did make it up the winding roads to the cabin. During that time, Sam had taken the time to fill them in on why he trusted Ruby so much, and why they needed to keep her around. Most of what he told them was no surprise to Melissa. That he was drunk, that he had tried to go after Lillith after one tip with no plan, and that Ruby had suspiciously shown up just in time to save him. What she didn't need to know about was all the sex Sam had apparently been having with the demon while Dean was still down in hell, but for whatever reason Sam felt the need to add it in. Dean was more surprised about all of this, but did look a little deflated after. Melissa wasn't sure if it was because Dean was feeling guilty about all the things that had happened to Sammy while he was in hell (very likely), or because he was hoping Sam would come clean about all the shady stuff Melissa had mentioned (less likely, but still a possibility). But by the end of the story, just as they arrived at the cabin's slightly snowy driveway, there wasn't really time for questions or accusations.

The first thing they were greeted with when they entered the tiny, dark cabin was Anna sat shaking on the couch across the room. She was somehow even paler than before, making the dark marks under her eyes even darker. Her hair was a mess and she toyed with her hands nervously. She looked almost like a corpse.

They walked in slowly, always ready for an attack like the weathered hunters they were. Ruby stood territorially against the counter in the ancient kitchen, and broke the silence as the five of them came together again.

"Glad you could make it," the demon smirked.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam muttered, glancing at Ruby but focusing mostly on Anna. "You okay?" he asked the girl.

"Yeah, I think so," Anna said in her same small voice, speaking mostly at Melissa. The hunter smiled softly, coming to sit next to Anna on the couch. "Ruby's not like other demons. She saved my life."

Melissa snorted, but Dean didn't scoff at the statement as everyone was expecting. Instead, he took a few steps closing to Ruby, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot-to-foot.

"I hear she does that," he said with a forced smile, reminding himself constantly that this was for Sam. She'd saved his Sammy from going in on Ruby with nothing but the knife. "I guess I...y'know…"

"What?" Ruby asked impatiently.

Melissa rolled her eyes and leaned back against the dusty tan couch, smelling mothballs from somewhere in the cabin. Ruby had saved Sam, that was true, but Melissa still didn't believe they owed her anything.

"I guess I owe you for...Sam. And I just wanted to...you know…"

Ruby sighed. "Don't strain yourself."

Dean's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Okay, then. Is the moment over?"

Ruby only nodded. Sam was standing back against the front door, about as uncomfortable as everyone else with the whole scene. Dean was choosing a hell of a moment to bring this up.

"Good," the older Winchester said, cracking a nervous grin and glancing over at Melissa. "'Cause that was awkward."

"Hey," Anna chimed in, a little more confidently this time. "Do you guys think it'd be safe to make a quick call to my parents? They must be completely freaked."

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, broken only by the ticking of an old grandfather clock near the couch. Melissa swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Uh…" Sam began hesitantly.

"What?" Anna asked, insisting.

"Anna," Melissa said, shift to look straight at her. She almost tried to take one of Anna's hands, but then thought better of it. "Um...your parents…"

"What about them?" Anna asked again, a crease of anger forming between her brows.

"Look, I'm so sorry…" Melissa breathed out.

"No...they're not…" Anna said slowly, her eyes searching the room for a face that wasn't solemn. For a different answer to her question.

"Anna, I'm sorry," Melissa repeated, seeing the redhead's eyes get glassy. It took only a moment for the girl to break down, her head in her hands as she cried silent tears. Melissa rubbed her back gently, but didn't know what else to say.

"Why is this happening to me?" Anna pleaded through her tears. Melissa felt her heart break a little more, biting at her lips and trying to keep her own breath from hitching.

"I don't know," Melissa whispered, trying to push away thoughts of buzzing hospital lights and the sounds of heart monitors.

There was a rush of wind outside, sounding almost like laughter, and Anna brought her head up suddenly, green eyes wide and locked on the door.

"They're coming," she said, her voice, oddly, stronger than Melissa ever remembered hearing it.

"Back room," Dean said, looking to Melissa. She nodded and ushered Anna to the small room behind the kitchen, almost an exact repeat of the broom closet earlier in the day.

"Where's the knife?" she heard Ruby ask as she came back into the living room.

"Uh..about that…" Dean began, scratching the back of his neck. They'd left it on the floor of the church attic with Alastair. There hadn't been much time to waste.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Ruby groaned.

"Hey, don't look at me," Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender and glancing at Sam.

"Thanks a lot," the younger Winchester eyed his brother angrily.

"Well, that's just peachy," Ruby began to monologue, pacing around in frustration. "Impeccable timing, you guys."

Suddenly, the door rattled in its frame and the whole house began shaking. For a moment, Melissa thought almost wildly that the whole house would crumble. The cracked, rotting logs that lined the walls didn't exactly look stable.

Her fears were only slightly quieted when two new figures burst into the room, and the shaking stilled. Melissa's jaw clenched as she recognized them as Castiel and Uriel, a specialist angel they'd come across at Halloween. It hadn't taken them long to learn that specialist angels were really more just assassins for Heaven.

Dean sighed heavily beside her. "Please tell me you're here to help. We've been havin' demon issues all day."

"Well, I can see that," Uriel said, standing stiffly in his black suit as he stared at Ruby. "You want to explain why you have this stain in the room?"

"We're here for Anna," Castiel piped up, his voice gravelly and his blue eyes like stone.

"Here for her like...here for her?" Dean asked apprehensively. His voice was tired. It would have been nice to have at least one force of nature on their side.

"Stop talking," Uriel ordered. "Give her to us."

"Are you gonna help her?" Sam asked, though his voice made it sound more like a threat than a question.

"No," Castiel said, void of any emotion. "She has to die."

Melissa's eyes lit up in anger and she took a step forward. Dean stopped her, though, grabbing onto the sleeve of her henley. _Ask questions first, shoot later_ , he reminded himself in his head. He'd been trying to stick to that since coming back from his trip down under. Unfortunately, things hadn't really been going to plan.

"You want Anna?" Sam asked. "Why?"

"Out of the way," Uriel growled out, taking another step forward.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, running a hand over his face. "I know Anna's wiretappin' your angel chats or whatever, but that's no reason to gank 'er."

"Don't worry," Uriel told them, with a scary attempt at a real smile. "I'll kill her gentle."

"Heartless bastards," Melissa spat, crossing her arms over her chest and not averting her gaze from them. Her cheeks were flushed in her anger.

"As a matter of fact, that we are," Castiel said. "And?"

"And?" Sam said, his voice raising. They could tell he was trying his best to hold back. He was fairing a little better than Melissa was. "Anna's an innocent girl."

"She is _far_ from innocent," Castiel frowned, tipping his head to the side.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

"It means she's worse than that abomination you've been screwing," Uriel said, his eyes boring into Ruby. Melissa almost gave a satisfied smile. It was about time somebody said it. But again, bigger fish. "Now, give us the girl."

"Sorry, get yourself another one," Dean told the angels defiantly. "Try JDate."

Melissa bit back a smirk.

"Who's gonna stop us?" Uriel asked with a smile. "You three? Or this demon whore?" With a nod of his head, he threw Ruby against the wall. Her head smacked against the wall, but she wasn't out cold. Only stunned.

Dean tried to go after Uriel, but this time it was Melissa holding him back.

"Cas…" Sam looked to the perhaps more reliable angel. "Please. Stop."

Castiel stepped forward quickly, and for a moment Melissa felt a flash of hope. Maybe that doubt from earlier had finally turned him over. Maybe he was going to double-cross his brethren.

But instead, he gave Sam a small touch of the forehead, and the younger Winchester was out like a light.

"Dammit!" Melissa yelled, letting Dean go and rushing over. Castiel got to her first though, and she thought she heard Dean cry out in pain for just a moment before everything around her went black.

. . .

She awoke with a cough, and a ringing in her ears. Sitting up quickly, her hand went to her forehead as she tried to blink away the dizziness. For whatever reason, the angel juice always hit her especially hard. Looking around, she was on Bobby's couch, an early light streaming through the windows. She must've been out for at least five hours, and she had no idea how they'd made it back to Bobby's. She swallowed thickly and got up, following the familiar voices into the kitchen, breathing slowly as she tried to get her footing. She noticed someone had taken off her boots.

The dream had been worse than she ever remembered before. It wasn't Allen. It was Dean. But he had black eyes and a face splattered with blood. She thought she remembered seeing him gallivant around with Alastair. Branding the souls on the rack with their mark of evil. But she knew it wasn't so, and she did her best to shake it off.

"Hey, slugger," Dean said, looking up with a smile when he heard her pad into the room. "I forgot you're a lightweight with the angel mojo."

"Bite me," she scoffed, sitting down next to him, across from Sam.

"Maybe tonight," he said, shooting her a wolfish grin.

She chuckled. "Shut up."

"Guys, I'm literally sitting right here," Sam groaned.

She was brought back to Earth. "Right, sorry, Sammy. What happened? Where's Bobby?"

"The Dominican. Working a case...or something," he said with a shrug. "Anna's down in the panic room and Ruby's keepin' watch. Right after Cas knocked you guys out Anna cut her wrists and drew something on the cabin wall. I don't know what it was...but it blew those angel dicks right outta the place."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Is she alright? How did she…"

"She's fine, and we don't know," Sam interjected, and then gestured to the files in front of him. "But this episode wasn't her first trip to the psych ward. When she was about two, she wouldn't go near her dad. Said he wasn't her real dad, actually. She thought her real dad was gonna kill 'er."

"Damn. Seems a little weird to just grow outta that kinda thing," Melissa mused.

"Well, she did," Sam sighed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "But now, here we are."

"That we are," she said, blowing out a breath. She turned to Dean, who almost stared down at the documents Sam had (probably illegally) gotten his hands on. Her hands were a little shaky seeing him, for whatever reason, the dream had felt so real. He glanced over at her after a moment, and she looked away as fast as she could, her cheeks tinting pink.

"What?" he asked. "I got somethin' on my face?"

She smiled half-heartedly at him. "Yeah actually…" she said, reaching slowly for the bruised cut standing out on the apple of his freckled cheek. "Right about there."

She ran her thumb over it gingerly and he wasn't successful at hiding his wince. "Uriel clocked ya pretty good, huh?"

"Ah," he waved a hand and looked away, "another scar just makes me tougher. And I dunno, darlin,' I think you're lookin' a little more like Hell warmed over than I do."

He reached out to her this time, resting his hand on her shoulder and thumbing her cheek as he examined the ever-darkening fingertip bruises on her neck. "That bastard…" he murmured of Alastair.

Cracking a small smile, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and turned away from him again, finally deciding to get up to pace. She sighed.

"I know the angels are ass-clowns and all but...what the hell did they mean…she's not innocent?" she asked no one in particular. "What's she hiding?"

"Why don't you ask me to my face?" Anna said from the doorway. Melissa jumped a little, looking to find the girl watching her with a questioning look. Ruby stood behind the redhead, her expression smug.

"Sleeping beauty has finally risen," the demon smiled.

"Least I'm not an abomination," Melissa mumbled, turning to grab a cup of coffee.

"That remains to be seen," Ruby retorted. "So I shouldn't expect a thanks from you too?"

Melissa laughed bitterly. "Yeah, keep dreamin,' gutter-slut."

"That's enough," Sam barked. Melissa faced him and shot the younger Winchester a look, but said nothing more.

"Good job watchin' her," Dean threw his arms up, regrettably forgetting about his injured shoulder for a moment to scold Ruby.

"I _am_ watchin' her," Ruby shot back, gesturing to the girl in front of her.

Dean only rolled his eyes.

"Alright, Anna, fine. The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?" Sam said, finally breaking his silence and standing up.

"You tell me," Anna said. Melissa thought it odd the kind of confidence she'd gained over the course of the day they'd known her. "You tell me why my life has been leveled. Why my parents are dead. I don't know. I swear."

She paused for a moment, and she blinked furiously. "I would give anything to know."

"Okay," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Then let's find out."

. . .

"We're here!" Melissa announced as she led Pamela into the panic room. She had to admit, the car ride back from Pamela's house had perhaps been the highlight of her month. Especially since Bobby wasn't around, it was nice to have a friend older than the Winchesters there to back her up. Melissa shot Ruby a glare as they passed the doorway. The walls were made of iron, lined with salt, and the whole panic room was warded. No matter how much she griped about the whole thing being racist, there was still no way Ruby was getting in.

"Pamela, hey!" Sam shouted, and both Winchester boys came up to greet the psychic.

"Sam?" Pamela said, putting her hands out in front of her. "Sam, is that you?"

"Yeah, I'm right here," he said, with a little guilty quirk of the mouth looking at her sunglasses. It was their fault.

"Oh, you know how I can tell?" Pamela said, shrugging off her mock confusion and breaking into a wicked grin. She grabbed Sam's ass curtly. "That perky little ass of yours. You could bounce a nickel off that thing. Of course I know it's you, grumpy. Same way I know that's a demon," she paused to point back to Ruby for a moment and then turned to Anna, "and that poor girl's Anna. And you, Sam, have been eyeing my rack."

Melissa smirked as Sam flushed and floundered uncomfortably.

"Don't sweat it, kiddo," Pamela assured him, laughing heartily and clapping him on the back. "I still got more senses than most."

"Right," Sam nodded sheepishly.

Pamela then turned to Dean. "And _you_ , mister, you been treatin' our girl alright?"

"As alright as I know how," he said, glancing at Melissa and the blackish, purple fingertips on her neck.

"So I've heard," Pamela told him, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

"Hey, I tell you things in confidence!" Melissa chuckled at her old friend's antics.

"Honey, you should know better than that by now," Pamela smiled at her. Her expression became more serious, though, as she turned to Anna.

The girl was laid on the small cot near the wall of the panic room, dressed in the same white blouse and jeans she'd had on the whole time she'd been with them.

"Hi, Anna," Pamela said, coming closer to the cot. Melissa dragged a chair over for her then went to go stand by Dean against the wall.

Pamela made small talk with Anna for a few minutes, knowing that if the girl was to be effectively hypnotized she'd have to feel a little more comfortable.

"How's your shoulder?" Melissa asked, not bothering to look over at Dean as she still carefully eyed Anna and Pamela.

"Fine," Dean replied casually, taking her hand in his. "How are you? Cas got you real bad this time."

"I'm alright," she shrugged, still trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of her head. "I wish I knew why I go down so fucking fast."

"Maybe there's no reason," Dean said, feeling oddly hollow. He hadn't slept in two days.

"An interesting thought," she said with a frustrated smirk. Nothing about today was adding up. But then, when did it ever?

"I think we're about ready to get this show on the road," Pamela announced a moment later. Dean felt a twinge in his heart seeing that Pamela had taken her sunglasses off, revealing her white, plastic eyes.

The whole process didn't take long, Pamela was a pro, after all. Things didn't escalate very much until Pamela began asking Anna about her father; her real father. She screamed and screamed, saying her father was going to kill her, and that she couldn't reveal his name. The lights blew out and the walls shook as Anna screamed in pain or insanity, they didn't know. Dean had to hold Melissa back from trying to help her.

"Wake in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!" Pamela finally yelled over the commotion. "Anna...Anna? Are you alright?"

Anna finally sat up. Very slowly. Her eyes were oddly clear, and she looked over at Pamela with a piercing gaze.

"Thank you, Pamela," Anna said with an oddly even voice. "That helps a lot. I remember now."

"Remember what?" Sam asked from his place standing against the door frame, near Ruby.

"Who I am," Anna replied. Now, she stared ahead of her, at nothing in particular.

Nobody said anything for a moment, but it was Dean who broke the silence.

"Okay," he said, "I'll bite. Who are you?"

"I'm an angel."

. . .

Night had fallen once again, and it found the five of them at a barn in Union, Kentucky. What a difference a day can make. After Anna's declaration, they discovered she'd fallen to Earth after ripping out her grace and becoming human. She was somebody's boss upstairs, but the years stationed on Earth had made her lose her faith. She became fed up with God's absence. What surprised Melissa the most was that only four angels in existence had ever seen God's face. Suddenly, Castiel's doubts weren't so surprising. The angels wanted her because she disobeyed, and the demons wanted her to torture. She was a flesh-and-blood angel. One that could really bleed. One that could die.

But through Sam's nerdiness, they'd tracked a meteor crash to Union, exactly nine months before the human Anna was born. Melissa had driven Pamela home quickly after Anna's hypnotism was over, and the others worked to pack for Union. So, the drive down to Kentucky had been a little awkward to say the least; one angel, one demon, and three hunters. There hadn't been much talk.

A fight ensued in the barn just after they arrived, the sky a dusky orange in the mid-December evening. Upon stepping onto the beautiful field which surrounded the barn, Anna knew her grace _had_ been there. But someone had taken it. And the hope could practically be _felt_ deflating out of them all. Dean had yelled for about ten minutes about going back because it wasn't safe for Anna so out in the open. The panic room was the best bet, but ultimately it was decided that the risk was too high to travel back. So basically, they were waiting to be bitten in the ass by either Heaven or Hell. Or Godzilla and Mothra, as Ruby had put it.

Dean had mysteriously disappeared at some point since that fight. Melissa thought she knew where she'd find him.

The night was unseasonably warm, and the sky swirled with purple. She tugged on the sleeves of her leather jacket as she walked out across the field to the Impala. She could see Dean's figure sitting on the hood, near an old oak tree under the great big sky. He looked so small this way.

"Just some light reading?" she asked as she approached him, noticing the heavy lore book in his lap. He jumped a little with a gasp, then looked over.

"Ha," she said tiredly. "Gotcha."

"Dammit," he groaned, shutting the book with a _snap_. But he smiled at her kindly.

She took a seat on the hood next to him, gently grabbing the lore book from his hands. It was on angels, of course. She smiled. He would stop at nothing to save Anna, but she knew he knew it was no use. She threw the book on the ground next to her.

"Hey, Missy-" he started, but she pushed his shoulder back, laying him down on the windshield. She could tell how tired he was in that he didn't protest possibly cracking the glass beneath him. She took the space beside him. After a moment of comfortable silence, Dean came close to her side and put his head on her shoulder.

"How you holdin' up?" Melissa asked, breathing in the cool night air and doing her best not to shiver.

"Okay," he said simply.

She scoffed. "Such lies."

"Why do you think she did it?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Why would she rip out her grace? Angels are perfect, y'know? Why'd she become human?" he explained, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"Why does anyone do anything, Dean? The grass is always greener," she said.

He nodded a little, clearing his throat but not responding for a moment. A little breeze blew by them, and somewhere an owl could be heard.

"Did you hear what she said the angels are gonna do to me?" he asked after some time.

"What that if you don't give her up they'll 'throw you back into eternal damnation'?" she asked, trying to keep the mood light. "Yeah, I heard."

"You think they will?" he asked quietly, his voice sounding almost empty.

She scoffed. "Fat chance. And even if they do, you won't be down there more than a day before I march down there and get you out myself."

"Don't lie to me," he said, feeling sad all at once.

"I'm not. Dean, I could get you gotta hell without breaking a sweat. I'm experienced now," she told him. "And I'm _very_ persuasive."

He laughed and she could feel the rumbling in his chest. "Touché."

She hummed as she sighed out a long breath. The stars were bright. She was struck again by how close to Christmas it was. She wondered if they would celebrate this year. She hadn't done that in a long time.

"Maybe I deserve to go back," Dean said softly, maybe hoping that Melissa wouldn't hear, but needing to get it out into the air.

Again, she sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment, then disentangling herself from him and sitting up. She looked up at the sky, and saw the leaves of the oak rustling in the night breeze.

"Did I ever tell you what happened to me in Bridgewater?" she asked.

"No," he replied, his voice a little watery. He didn't bother sitting up, but still held onto her hand.

Her voice sounded lost in the breeze as she told the story once again. A story she thought would die with John Winchester. She didn't cry at all. The guilt was there, but she had learned to swallow it by now. She tried to push the face of the runner out of her mind.

"We all do things we're not proud of, Dean," she said finally, looking over at him.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly. "My dad was a real piece of work, darlin.' That...that wasn't your fault."

"It was a long time ago," she said. "And do you think I deserve to die because of that?"

"What kinda question is that?" Dean blurted out, furrowing his brows.

"Exactly. People do things. People regret things, but sometimes, hell, most of the time, they don't deserve what comes to them. You don't need to forgive yourself...all you have to do is find a way to live with yourself," she told him. "So, if you ever say somethin' like that to me again, we're gonna have to have a much longer talk."

"Deal," he sat up next to her. He sighed, watching her profile. He didn't know why someone like her had been forced to lead the life she did. "See, this is what I mean. Why would she wanna trade heaven for this mess down here?"

Melissa bit her lip hard for a moment, wanting to taste the blood for some reason. Blood was human. "I don't know, Dean. She left for a while, and now there's a price on her head. I left for awhile, and then you took me right back in. There's forgiveness down here. There's love down here."

"There's pain," he said wistfully.

"There's whiskey," she countered.

"There's guilt," he shot back, squeezing her hand.

"There's sex," she looked over at him with a smile.

"Ya got me there," he said, then gave her a long kiss. She ran a hand down his neck and he shivered.

"You cold, Dean?" she asked teasingly, pulling away from his lips with a _smack_.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "It's not too bad."

She kissed him again, but had to come up for air after a little while. "Y'know," she thumbed at his cheeks, her hands on the sides of his face, "I think it might be warmer in the car."

"You think?" he asked huskily, his eyes glinting in the moonlight and his grin wide.

"I know."

. . .

After waking up on top of Dean in the backseat of the Impala, naked except for the leather jacket draped over them, Melissa immediately knew something was wrong. He almost always woke up before her, but this morning he was still out cold, muttering as his eyes darted around underneath their lids. There were tear tracks down his cheeks, and if possible he looked more tired than he had been the night before. It took a few shakes of his shoulder, but eventually she got him up. And even after minutes of questioning, and her having to button up his shirt for him because of the way his hands were shaking, he insisted he couldn't tell her what was wrong. And, naturally, things were not going very well when they arrived back at the barn. Ruby was nowhere to be found.

Presently, they could do nothing more than pace around and wait.

"I don't know, man," Sam sighed at his brother, running a hand nervously through his hair. "Where could she be?"

"Hey, she's your Hell buddy," Dean shrugged, then took a pull from his flask. He handed over to Melissa, who grimaced as she took a sip. He had the worst taste in dark liquor.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Anna asked them, her feet dnagling below her as the four of them sat on a large dining table towards the back of the lofty barn, facing the door.

"It's two a.m. somewhere," Dean reasoned tiredly.

"Are you okay?" Melissa asked him again, placing a hand on his shoulder. She hoped maybe the alcohol had loosened him up enough to give her an answer.

"Yeah, of course," he replied nonchalantly.

She was about to keep pressing him when the doors blasted open, reminiscent of the way they had in the cabin the day before. Lo and behold, Uriel and Castiel stood before them again, looking earnest as ever.

"Hello, Anna," Castiel said as he walked dangerously close to them while Sam and Melissa stood to attention. "It's good to see you again."

"How?" Sam asked, flabbergasted. Ruby had placed about a million hex bags around the area the day before. Practically angel-proof. "How did you find us?"

He paused for a moment, seeing Dean still sat wordlessly on the table. It dawned on him. "Dean?"

The older Winchester winced at even hearing his name. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, turning to Anna.

Melissa narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

"Because they gave him a choice," Anna piped up from beside them, walking a little closer to Castiel, an angel who had once been under her command. "They kill me...or they kill you two. I know how their minds work."

Melissa's eyes filled with tears. "Dean," she nearly whispered, trying to get his attention. He couldn't even look at her. She knew what it was. It was the way it always was. They'd come to him in his dreams, they'd done something to him. And he'd given Anna up. She turned back to the angels before her in a fury. They'd cracked him outta hell, but now they were really not letting it go.

" _You_ …" she pointed at them, but she was too angry to find a name to call them. They'd made him make the choice. They couldn't fight fair. And they were gonna take Anna from them.

"It's okay. I forgive you," Anna told Dean, looking back at him one last time. "You did the best you could."

She took a deep breath, and faced the angels before her. "I'm ready. No more tricks. No more running."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said in that same dead, gravelly voice.

"No, you're not. Not really," Anna retorted. "You don't know the feeling."

"Still, we have a history. It's just…" he began, but Anna cut him off.

"Orders are orders," she said curtly. "I know. Just make it quick."

Out of nowhere, though, Alastair and Ruby, along with another demon, appeared in the barn.

"Don't you touch a hair on that girl's head," Alastair made his presence known, pushing what looked like a bleeding Ruby aside, and beginning to hurl insults back and both with Uriel.

All hell broke loose after that, the angels and the demons doing their best to exorcise the other and get Anna for themselves. Melissa did her best to usher Anna out of the barn somehow, but the girl wouldn't budge. She said that she wouldn't trade her life for two others.

Just as Alastair was attempting to exrocise Castiel, Dean came up from behind him with a crowbar and hit him over the head. It did little, but it was the gesture that counted.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Alastair drawled. "I am so disappointed. You had such promise."

The white-eyed demon went after Dean and Sam, who had been trying to help Ruby, next. Melissa was still struggling with Anna, but the angel kicked her as hard as she could in the ankle that had been injured (probably broken, but there was no time for that) in the fall from the church attic. Melissa went down immediately, and though she was up in a second, she was too late.

Anna grabbed the grace that Uriel had been hiding for so long in a bottle around his neck, and smashed it on the ground.

"SHUT YOUR EYES!" she yelled to everyone as a burning white light filled her body, blasting Alastair out of the room. The only thing left behind of the white-eyed demon was Ruby's knife.

And just like that, Anna was gone. Nothing was left in her place.

"What are you still doing here?" Dean yelled at the angels left behind. "Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared?"

"This isn't over," Uriel warned. Castiel only stood solemnly beside him.

"Oh, it looks over to me, dickbag," Dean replied. And without a sound, the other angels vanished.

. . .

Kentucky was a hell of a long drive back to South Dakota, and barring any unforeseen seals, they were gonna get back and debrief with Bobby once he got back from hedonism...or wherever he was. They'd been on the road about eighteen hours, and they just needed a beer break. So, they stopped on the side of some scenic road on Iowa's edge. The sun was high in the sky but the wind was cold. Dean was shaking even more than Melissa as he leaned up against Baby's door.

"That's it," Melissa said, coming to stand in front of Dean and taking both of his freezing hands in hers. "I am drivin' back. _You_ need to get some fucking sleep."

"Fine," he said, giving in instantly. He looked down at their hands, not wanting to look her in the eye. Sam was giving them a minute, sitting on the hood and looking out over the empty road.

"How's your ankle?" Dean asked, rubbing circles on the backs of her hands. She didn't even know how he knew about that. She hadn't told him. He could just read her like a book.

She didn't answer. Taking their hands apart and standing on tiptoe, she kissed his forehead long and soft. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I love you," she said softly.

"Ditto," he said. She smiled just a minute, then gave him his space, scooching down near the trunk.

Dean cleared his throat. "Can't believe we made it outta there."

"Again," Sam finished with a smile, turning down towards them. He held his bottle out and they clinked their beers together. He had a vacant look in his eyes, though. Ruby had gone just after the whole battle, wounded but alive. She'd made a deal with Alastair to get the knife back, but apparently it had all been a part of Sam's secret plan to get the angels and demons altogether at once. Again, Sam had enlisted Ruby. And they all knew they would see her again. Dean could maybe live with it, but he was starting to see that Melissa probably never could.

"I know you heard him, Sam," Dean said after a minute.

"Who?"

"Alastair," Dean answered. "What he said...about how I had promise."

"I heard him," Sam said with nod and another sip of his beer.

"You're not curious?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'm damn curious," Sam admitted. "But you're not talking about hell, and I'm not pushin.'"

"It wasn't four months, you know," Dean began.

Melissa bowed her head. She'd heard it once before, but she knew it would be just as hard to listen to him tell it the second time. It was odd to finally give a face and a name to the demon Dean had referred to the night he'd laid it all out for her.

"What?" Sam asked. He didn't know this would be the time Dean chose to get it off his chest. Granted, he didn't know that Melissa already knew.

"It was four months up here, but down there...I don't know. Time works different. It was more like forty years," Dean shuddered.

"Oh my god," was all Sam could say.

"They uh...they sliced and carved and tore into me in ways that you...until there was nothing left. And then suddenly...I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so that they could start in all over. And Alastair...at the end of every day...every one...he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack...if I put souls on...if I started the torturing. And every day I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine. For thirty years...I told him."

Melissa put a hand over her mouth and slid down the side of the car. She still couldn't believe what he'd been through.

"But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started rippin' 'em apart. I lost count of how many souls."

Dean had to stop for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks. Melissa was biting hard on her lips, and did her best to breathe.

"The things I did to them…" Dean said, running a hand down his face roughly.

"Dean, look, you held out for thirty years. That's longer that anyone would have," Sam told his brother, trying his best to hold himself together.

"How I feel..." Dean struggled through his tears, "this...inside me...I wish I couldn't feel anything. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

. . .

While the motel bed would have probably would have felt like a bag of rocks to someone else, but Melissa couldn't help but sigh with relief as she felt the warmth of the covers, lying next to Dean. Her hair was wet from the small, grimy shower, but she could not have felt more comfortable in Dean's old red flannel. The motel's decor was not as terrible as it could have been. Everything was calm and blue, and though the gray carpet was scratchy under her feet, the room was just small enough to feel cozy for them. Melissa hoped Sam was sleeping well in his room across the way. But she knew he wasn't. It was only around eight, but everyone was eager to get to bed as soon as they got over the border to South Dakota.

Upon arriving she and Dean has eaten their burgers quickly, and she'd given him the shower first. Though her driving was meant to let him sleep, Dean hadn't gotten a wink. His eyes were stormy, and his body was grimy. Even after the shower, he'd made her give him one of her tapes. It was one of the only things that could put him to sleep these days. Next to her, his face was peaceful and he could hear the _The Clash_ coming softly through the headphones.

She held her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the muscles in her back to relax. Her mouth was dry and her stomach fluttered anxiously. Anna was gone, and Sam was still off in his own world. And those angel dicks had forced Dean to choose. And the seals were still breaking. She couldn't quiet her nerves. Nothing was going the right way.

"Hey, Missy," she heard from beside her. His headphones were off and his hair was messy when she looked over at him. But his eyes looked clearer somehow. And seeing him like this, her head stopped spinning.

"Hey, are you feelin' any better?" she asked, rolling on her side to face him.

"Y'know...I think so," he said, trying to make himself believe it. "Sammy knows now, and he didn't seem to hate me so…"

Melissa sighed, snuggling closer to him. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Hey, it's okay…"

"No, I mean, I don't wanna push you into...feeling better...or something. I just love you so much Dean, and when I see you like that…it's hard to stop myself from-"

"Missy," Dean said with a smile, "stop. Don't worry. You're...you're one of the only good things left. You don't need to...I'm fine. And you keep me feeling fine."

She smiled back. "Well, just let me know whenever you're not."

"'Course. But only if you do the same," he said, bringing her to his chest and lying flat on his back. "And only if you keep letting me listen to those kickass mixtapes. Even if they are just a bunch of hippie crap."

She laughed, despite everything happening around them. She still laughed. She felt the vibrations of his chest beneath her, and the cold metal of his protection amulet. And she smelled him on the shirt she wore. So, she pushed away the thoughts how much Anna reminded her of Rosie, or how the world was literally falling down around them. She only focused on the man whose arms were wrapped around her. And though that night she got almost no sleep, her heart ached a little less as she felt him breath deeply beside her.

 **Author's Note:** Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! It was quite a lot, but I'm excited to move onto another adventure.

A special thanks goes to _**Piper**_ , _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews on the last chapter! They really do keep me going, and they are always appreciated. Also, _**Piper**_ , I totally agree with you on the Anna/Dean storyline, and don't worry. I was never planning on doing that.

PLEASE leave a review down below to let me know what you thought! Until next time!

Peace and love.


	51. Chapter Nineteen

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Turn! Turn! Turn!"** by The Byrds

\- " **Dire Wolf"** by Grateful Dead

\- " **Simple Man"** by Lynyrd Skynyrd

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Solitude was the only thing that seemed to be helping Melissa at the moment. Not that everything was going so well before, but now everything was just completely fucked. She was back in the red truck, feeling like the past, rolling along at about twenty over the speed limit through the backwoods of Washington on her way to East Jesus Nowhere. It had been two days since Pamela died, but it still felt like just twenty minutes ago.

They were in Greybull, Wyoming, where people were getting shot point blank and walking away like it was nothing. Turns out, the demons were trying to kill a reaper on the night of a blue moon. It was another one of the seals. All three of them went under into the spirit world, with Pamela's help. But when they came to, she was stabbed, and Sam had killed the demon who did it, but it was too little too late.

. . .

 _It was the strangest sensation, watery consciousness coming back to her mind all at once. Her breath came back all at once too, and the light stung her eyes. But she had no time to adapt. There was something going on around her. Not quite a commotion, but definitely something. Sitting up, she found Dean still almost out cold next to her. He was slower to wake, apparently. On her other side, the next bed over, Pamela sat coughing and sputtering, her lips tinged red. Sam had a hand on her shoulder, his voice pleading something, but Melissa wasn't listening. All she could see was the blood staining her friend's fingers._

 _She jumped up, coming to Pamela's side in a flash._

" _No, no, no," she murmured. "What the hell just happened?"_

 _Pamela smiled softly, ruefully, and took off her sunglasses and as leaned limply against the headboard. "Demon."_

" _What?" Melissa said quietly, a crease between her eyebrows. Sam frowned, then nodded over to the far corner of the room. A large man in a black coat was slumped over, his eyes empty. She sighed, then looked back to Pamela, biting her lips hard at the sight of the knife wound in her stomach, Pamela's hand stained in blood._

" _Calm down, sweetheart," Pamela told Melissa, the blood still pouring over her fingers. There was a whiskey gripped in her other hand, and she held it out to the younger woman. "Let's share."_

 _Melissa felt tears well up in her eyes and Dean's hand came to rest gently on the small of her back._

" _What happened?" he breathed gruffly, near Melissa's ear as he sat down on the bed behind her._

" _Dean, where's Tessa?" Sam asked of the reaper they'd been trying to save on the other side. As luck would have it, she'd been the same reaper who tried to take Dean after the car crash those couple years ago. Melissa and Tessa hadn't exactly seen eye to eye during the job._

" _She's…" Dean began, then slowly closed his eyes, laying his head on Melissa's shoulder. Tessa was safe. She was back to reaping. The dead would die and stay dead._

 _All the air in Melissa's lungs left her. A few tears rolled down her cheeks, shining against her pallid skin in the light of the evening, streaming through the window of the small, dirty motel room. It was the room where Pamela would die. Not at home among her Ramones records and her dreamcatchers, but on the second story of some throwaway building in Greybull. It was an insult._

" _Pamela, I'm so sorry," Sam practically whispered from her other side._

" _Stop," she said as she tried to fight Melissa from taking her tumbler and putting it on the rickety nightstand. She lost._

" _You don't deserve this," Sam argued for no real reason. Melissa took Pamela's hand in hers. It was cold._

" _Yeah, I don't. I told you I didn't want anything to do with this. The angels, and the reapers, and those demon bastards. Guess this is the price for being the best psychic around," Pamela said weakly, trying her best to squeeze Melissa's hand but beginning to go numb in her limbs. It was such a new feeling, dying. And she would only feel it once._

" _Please God," Melissa muttered, not able to look to Pamela's face but only focusing on the steady flow of blood from the wound in her stomach._

" _Don't cry, Melissa," Pamela urged, her tone oddly light and normal. "It ain't you. But do me a favor and tell that bastard Bobby Singer to go to hell for introducing me to these boys."_

 _Melissa gave a watery, half-hearted laugh. "Pamela...you're...thank you."_

" _Anytime."_

 _Pamela turned in Dean's direction. "You take care of her. Though, chances are? She won't need it."_

" _Pamela, don't," Dean said, hating goodbyes maybe more than the next guy._

 _Pamela only coughed helplessly in response, the blood now running down her chin and dripping onto her chest._

" _Take it easy, Pamela," Dean told her, his eyes relaxing. "If it helps, you're going to a better place."_

 _Pamela tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a choke. "You're lying."_

 _She took a pause, then beckoned Sam over. "Come here, grumpy," she smiled a little. For a moment, Dean and Melissa sat in silence as Pamela whispered inaudibly and Sam eyes only widened as he leaned over her, listening._

 _Then, Pamela sat back, coughed once more, and was finally still._

 _Melissa took a strained breath in and felt tears spilling over her face. "Pamela?" she asked, feeling her friend's hand go slack on her own. "Pamela. Please…"_

 _A pit in her stomach dropped, and she hung her head, letting out a small, anguished cry. Dean kissed her shoulder, but she pulled away from him. She padded over to the window, not giving the dead demon a second glance. She put her hands on the sides of the sill, staring out over the cold, poor city. The sun had set and the moon shone faintly in the milky blue sky. The new year hadn't been treating them well._

" _Melissa," Sam tried to say apologetically._

" _Shut up," she replied through her weeping._

. . .

She sighed and ran a restless hand through her hair. There was no monster she was chasing, no hunt to go on. She only drove. Burning gas and playing every tape she had. She hadn't slept since Pamela died, and ate rarely, but she didn't feel a thing. A kind of numbness overtook her that she had experienced too many times before.

Sam and Dean had landed another case a few towns over in Wyoming, through Ruby of course. And no matter how much Dean pleaded, she didn't go with them. She'd left only a couple hours after Pamela's funeral, copping her old red truck from Bobby's place again. She still wore her black dress as she drove. Her mind was busy, but she tried to ignore it. She tried not to think about what Pamela may've said to Sam (something he wouldn't reveal), she tried not to think about how much Pamela had helped her in her times of need, and how she had only repaid Pamela by getting her killed. And she did her best to put Dean's face out of her mind; the way his eyes had tried to hide his fear when she'd told him she needed time on her own. But she promised she would come back, and reminded him of that _Shawshank Redemption_ quote, wished him good luck on his hunt, and she was off.

They hadn't celebrated Christmas. There was a werewolf down in Florida, and the night was lost to a hunt. She was starting to feel it now, whatever was coming, and there was less and less life for normal life things. The last time they'd been out for a drink was the night Ruby came and told them about Anna. It had been basically non-stop since then. But as she felt the cool afternoon air freeze her cheeks and blow back her hair, she almost breathed a sigh of relief. Pamela was gone, but so were the constant calls from Ruby or the angel dicks or the other hunters in need of help. She didn't really know how to feel.

Almost on cue, her phone rang. She groaned, doing her best not to swerve on the desolate country road when she reached for the cellphone in her duffel. She didn't bother looking to see who it was before answering.

"Yeah?" she yawned.

" _Melissa_ ," said Sam earnestly from the other end.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked immediately, recognizing his tone.

" _Cas and Uriel. They took Dean. I know you said you wanted to have some ti-_ "

"Shut up, Sam, you know I'm coming. Where are you?"

. . .

The drive back to Wyoming must have been some sort of record, but that wasn't much of a surprise considering she was going over a hundred for most of the way. The music had stopped, but she didn't bother to change it to anything different. She was done with the angels. The next time she saw one they were gonna get wasted. They blinded Pamela, they took Dean, they ordered everyone around constantly. And what was the reason? The orders of a God practically no one had ever seen. It was time to break their ties. And with the demons too, for that matter. They killed Pamela. They killed her dead because she'd had a hand in breaking the seals. Melissa's eyes were still glistening wildly and her hands were shaky when she arrived at the motel, knocking insistently on the door.

Sam opened it hesitantly, his gun cocked, before relaxing when he saw it was just her. She didn't speak a word before brushing past him. She'd hung up the minute he'd told her his motel, so there were still a lot of grey areas to be filled in.

"What did they say?" she demanded from Sam as she went straight to the fridge and grabbed a back, not bothering to shrug off her leather jacket or unlace her boots. As soon as they figured out where he was, she was going to hit the ground running. She thought vaguely of her newfound taste for alcohol. Before she started rolling with the Winchesters, she hadn't even thought much of beer, only drank it for a buzz. Now, the alcohol was essential. She couldn't afford to satisfy her hunger with blind hunting, she had to fill the hole some other way.

"They…" he began, sighing heavily and rubbing his tired eyes as he sat on the kitchen table and Melissa paced in front of him. "There's been four angels killed in the past week, and it's the demons. No one knows how. They got Alastair. But he won't talk. They took Dean somewhere...because they need to get answers."

She watched him speak with wide eyes. "Torture? And he said no, so they took him…" she said slowly, putting it together in her mind, clutching her beer bottle hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. "Fuck."

"Yep," Sam replied.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked urgently, downing the last of her quick beer.

"I called Ruby," he said, trying to sound confident.

She rolled her eyes. "'Course you did."

"Would you stop?" he snapped. She was about to retaliate before there came a knock at the door, exactly on cue. Sam frowned at Melissa and sighed before crossing back to the door.

"I can still smell 'em," Melissa heard Ruby say, brushing past Sam and joining them in the room. "Seriously, Sam, I'm not exactly dying to tangle with angels again."

Melissa blew out a breath and slumped down on the bed as Ruby leaned back against the fridge and Sam took his seat back on the table.

"Oh, good, you called _American Psycho_ over here," Ruby said, giving Melissa a frustrated glare.

"Can it, gutter-slut. Just tell us where the hell Dean is," Melissa barked out.

"Not sure I see the problem," Ruby said with a shrug. "You know they have Alastair strung up six ways from Sunday. Dean cuts himself a slice, Al's reduced to a quivering heap, and the good guys get the goods. What's wrong with that?"

"He can't do it," Sam told her, his jaw clenched but his eyes even.

"Look," Ruby sighed, "I get it. You don't want him going all torture-master again."

"No, I mean, he can't do it. He can't get the job done," Sam said, and Melissa perked her head up. She didn't know where he was going, but it seemed like nowhere good. "Something happened to him downstairs, Ruby. He's not what he used to be. He's not strong enough."

Melissa said nothing, but felt the rage brewing inside her.

"And you are?" Ruby asked almost coyly. It made Melissa's stomach churn.

"I will be," he replied solemnly.

With that, she'd had enough. Melissa got up wordlessly, her boots thudding in anger across the motel floor before she slammed the door and made her way out into the cold, dimly lit parking lot. Sam followed her instantly, and when he called her name she was glad to see Ruby hadn't come outside with him.

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" she shouted at him as he got close. It was nice in a way getting all of it out. He'd been screwed up since Dean went to Hell, sure, but in the past few weeks it was almost like the way he was when they'd first found him. He was falling deeper into something, but she didn't know what. Melissa figured it was connected to whatever it was Pamela had whispered in his ear.

"Why? Because I'm bein' honest?" he shot back.

"You're not being honest, you dick! You know why Dean's a better hunter than you, Sam? Even now? Because he doesn't need to slum around with some demon to get his job done!" she yelled back, hoping she wouldn't draw the attention of ay of the other motel guests. It was only one story, an L-shaped building with a handful of rooms. It was weird to think that no one else knew there was a demon among them there. They worked in the shadows so.

"No, instead he just slums around with you!" Sam replied, his face growing hot and red. Melissa only stared at him for a moment, but ultimately decided just to clock him one.

He stumbled back from the force of her blow, and as he looked back she saw a trickle of blood coming down from his lip. He swiped it away with the back of his wrist and watched her sadly.

"I miss the way you were before," she admitted, still angry but a little quieter.

"I was soft back then," he told her.

"You were _good_ back then," she answered.

He tilted his head a little at her, then smirked almost viciously. "And you're so holy now, Melissa? Does Dean know what happened to you while he was down under?"

"Mostly," she said. "What happened to _you_ , Sam? Last chance, alright? Just 'fess up to me now, or I'll gonna take measures into my own hands, I swear to God."

"You know, Mel, you aren't as scary as you think you are," he told her, his voice stern. But she could see in his eyes he was remembering. Remembering those weeks alone together before they went their separate ways.

"I know you, Sam," she said, "whether you like it or not. And you're a liar."

She turned away from him them, staring up into the streetlights, the night black. Leaning against the hood of her truck, she hadn't heard his boots carrying him away.

"Let her do whatever she has to do to find him, but I'm not going back in there," she said swiftly, almost like an order. "Come back out here when you're finished. We'll take separate cars. You're a shitty driver, anyway."

. . .

It felt like forever, but eventually Sam emerged, mouth still bloody and his eyes piercing in the light of the streetlights. Melissa felt herself shiver when she saw his face, something was off.

"Sam," she said slowly, coming up to him and putting hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He shoved her off and looked at her. It was the eyes. Something sinister about those usually such kind eyes. _Are they black?_ She asked herself, but shrugged it off. No, that was silly. Of course they weren't.

"Like you care," he growled out. "She got him. You can follow. Let's go."

Without another word, he slammed the door to the Impala shut and revved the engine like a threat. She sighed out a white puff of air and looked back one last time before getting back in the truck, longing for Dean and hoping he would be the one who knew how to sort the whole mess out.

. . .

Running in with Sam behind her, the first thing Melissa laid her eyes on was Dean's bloodied face, his body broken and slumped against the far wall of the warehouse. Alastair stood in the middle of the devil's trap, which must have broken at some point. And on a metal table near the doorway, an abundance of torture tools. There were the usual methods: salt, holy water, iron. But others she saw...they were new. They were grotesque.

Greeting them as they walked in was a blue light, enveloping Castiel as Alastair chanted in Latin. Though they hadn't discussed it upon their arrival, only running in wordlessly with guns cocked, it didn't seem out of place when Sam stopped Alastair in his tracks, with only the raise of his hand. Melissa didn't bother watching whatever was going to happen happen. As Castiel slumped onto the ground, his power drained, and Sam went to work on Alastair, she rushed over to Dean. Melissa took his head into her lap, and felt powerless to the scene unfolding in front of her.

Alastair choked in the wake of only Sam's raised hand, and was thrown against the wall. Melissa shivered, noticing how much Sam's attacks reminded her of Alastair's.

"Stupid pet tricks," Alastair mocked in a strained voice. But he knew he was fucked. Sam had got him.

"Who's murdering the angels?" Sam demanded. "How are they doing it?"

There was a pause. In the silence, Melissa heard the dripping of a pipe, and saw the spot on the devil's trap where the chalk had been worn away by that little error in the plumbing.

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" Alastair almost laughed.

"Yeah, I do," Sam said with that same vicious smile that made Melissa's skin crawl. He twisted his hand once more, and Melissa watched in a mix of horror and satisfaction as Alastair's white eyes rolled back in his head and he choked more.

"How are the demons killing angels?" Sam repeated, a little slower but more insistent this time.

"I don't know," Alastair replied.

"Right," Sam scoffed.

"It's not us," Alastair said, and it almost sounded pleading. "We're not doing it."

"I don't believe you," Sam continued. Melissa had no idea how he was holding out so long, considering the last time Sam had tried something like this on Alastair he didn't even flinch. She was right, he back to where he was.

"Lilith is _not_ behind this," Alastair said, still pressed against the dirty gray walls of the warehouse. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. She'd kill a thousand."

With that, Sam stopped all at once. Even Alastair looked surprised, if not a little smug. "Oh, go ahead," the demon coaxed. "Send me back, _if_ you can."

"I'm stronger than that now," Sam told him confidently. Melissa raised her eyebrows. "Now, I can kill."

Sam raised his hand a final time, closed his eyes, and said nothing. A gold light began to flicker inside Alastair, and then in one last explosion, he was dead. Melissa would've been in shock if there had been any time.

"Sam, we gotta get to the hospital. _Now_."

. . .

Humming _Hey Jude_ and doing her best to hold Dean in place but not hurt him more than he already way, Melissa kept things under control in Baby's backseat. Sam drove as fast as he could, but more cautiously than she knew Dean would have. The night was black and starry, and Dean's face was bloody but serene. He was moving in and out of consciousness, but his breathing was shallow. Melissa didn't know if it was just from broken ribs or from internal bleeding. She was gonna need to think of some way in hell to explain this one to hospital staff.

"Missy," she heard him say softly, huskily from her lap as she stroked his hair.

"Hey, gorgeous," she smiled the best she could. His eyes were cloudy and half-lidded. "Don't try to talk, alright? We're almost there."

He nodded a little, then shut his eyes once more. She sighed restlessly and went back to humming. They should've found him earlier. And the angels should have known how to set up a damn devil's trap. In fact, the angels should have known better than to do this in the first place. Demons did lie, but it was clear to both Sam and Melissa that Alastair was sincere. When you'd dealt with demons for as long as they had, there were times you just knew.

"How we doin' back there?" Sam asked, glancing in the rearview mirror and licking his lips nervously.

"Just get us there," she replied, her eyes still fixed on Dean. He hadn't lost any teeth, it seemed, though both his cheeks were bruised and bloodied. There was a gash on his forehead. But it was still the breathing that worried her the most.

"Five minutes," he updated her, stepping on it a little more. The outskirts of Wyoming seemed to have hospitals only few and far between.

"Well, since we got the time, what the fuck was that back there?" she asked harshly, again not looking up at him.

"You wanna talk about that _now_?" he asked angrily. "I saved him, alright?"

She sighed tiredly. Really, she didn't want to talk about it at all. But anything to keep her mind of Dean and that shallow breathing. "It was your eyes, Sam. What happened to your eyes?"

He shook his head in frustration. "The hell are you talking about?"

She only hummed in response, her eyebrows knitting not in confusion but in disappointment. "You don't see what's goin' on with you…" she murmured, quiet enough that he wouldn't hear her. After that, all she could do was keep carrying that comforting tune for Dean, and worrying for Sam in the back alleys of her mind.

. . .

"Mel," Sam said as she shook her shoulder. No dice. He tried twice more before she finally lifted her head from the side of the hospital bed, her eyes wild and alert.

"Whoa, hey," he retreated, standing over her with a coffee in each hand. It took a moment, but then the muscles in her back relaxed and she looked over at him, a red mark on her forehead from where she'd been resting on her wrist. She still held Dean's hand in hers, but she grabbed the coffee from him with a nod of thanks.

She cleared her throat and took a sip, grimacing as it went down. The hospital wasn't exactly a restful place, but it had been thirty-six hours since she'd been in a bed, and she was taking all she could get until Dean was up and running again. She tried not to look at his breathing tube or IVs, or listen to the beeping of the heart monitor. The doctors had assured him they could remove it once the bleeding had finally stopped. They told her it was happening slowly, though it was happening. She wasn't sure if she believed them.

"What were you dreaming about?" Sam asked her, sitting down in the chair next to her, frowning in his brother's direction.

"Pamela...Dean...I don't know," she said, looking down. "I don't ever dream good things. Not anymore."

"Yeah...me either," he told her. And for a moment, it felt like old times. The anger and the questions were forgotten. Dean was the only thing that mattered right now.

"Where's Cas?" she asked. "You talk 'im into giving Dean a miracle?"

He shook his head. "He said he couldn't. When we walked in...Alastair was trying to sent him upstairs. It took most of his mojo. Then, he just left."

She scoffed. "Of course. Angel dicks."

. . .

Originally, Melissa had gone out to buy some cigarettes. It had been months, but it really just one of those days. She'd spilled the coffee Sam got for her hours earlier because she was shaking so much. She sure as hell needed one. Luckily, though, she got a call from Sam on her way to the hospital lobby. Dean was awake. So instead, she bought them some playing cards, and her step was a little bouncier as she made her way back up to the ICU. She thought vaguely about how much goddam time she spent there. But maybe, they could forget everything for a few hours, play a game of cards, and let Dean heal.

Her smile was wide as she walked back into his room, though she was a little surprised to see Sam gone. Dean was staring out the window from his place in bed, his eyes tired.

"Hey, gorgeous," she greeted him, coming to sit in her chair.

He jumped a little, sniffing and clearing his throat. He tried at a grin. "Hey, Missy. You look like hell."

"Yeah, well, I should get you a mirror, hotshot," she retorted. Her face fell though when she saw the redness in his eyes and noticed the weariness in his voice.

"What's wrong?"

He blew out a shaking breath, reaching for her hand. "Cas was here."

"Well, I'm sorry I missed him," she said, her jaw clenched. "I'm gonna kick his ass the minute he shows his face around us again."

He chuckled half-heartedly, looking down at their clasped hands. "You should."

"What happened, Dean? And where's Sam?"

Dean only shrugged. "Said he needed some air."

There was a pregnant pause before he continued. "Cas said-" His voice broke.

"It's okay, Dean," she said in a quiet voice, rubbing circles on his thumb.

"Well, Uriel was the one killin' the angels. Go figure. Without God, he thinks Lucifer's the next best thing."

"Damn," she murmured.

"I know. But…" he sighed heavily but winced at his two cracked ribs. "I broke the first seal."

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"It was Alastair...when I was…" he stopped, and startled her as he turned and looked her start in the eye, quoting the demon he had tortured. "'And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell."

She felt her heart sink and bowed her head, then placed a short kiss on his hand. "Dean-"

"That's why they pulled me out, you know," he interrupted, his voice muffled from the tubes in his nose and the tears in his eyes. "To keep me from breaking. But they were ten years too late. And they were gonna just leave me down there...but the righteous man who starts it is the only one who can finish it."

He collapsed into his sobs then, struggling to get his words out. "I can't do it...I can't do it, Missy. I'm not strong enough...not since I was down there. I can't…"

He gripped her hand hard and did his best to slow his breathing.

"Yes, you can," Melissa said suddenly, strongly.

He laughed bitterly and hiccuped. "How?"

Slowly, treating him like he was made of glass, she crept into the hospital bed next to him, though it was a tight fit. They held hands, lying still next to each other like mummies.

But then, she started to giggle, and soon she was in a full-blown fit of laughter. Dean watched in confusion, but said nothing, tear tracks still staining his face. He figured (rightly so) that it was probably just the exhaustion and the shock. They'd all had an eventful few days.

"Fuck if I know how to stop an apocalypse," she said hoarsely when she finally calmed down, her cheeks heating up a little in embarrassment at her outburst. She felt almost high, but not quite. "But that never stopped us before."

"Yeah, well, we've never had an apocalypse on our hands before," he argued. "If I'd just held out down there-"

"Hey," she put her other hand on his chest gently and turned over to face him. "Stop. Not tonight. Just...sleep."

"Right, 'cause that's easy," he sighed.

"You love a challenge," she shot back. "And besides, once our good friend Gumby comes back from getting air he's probably gonna wanna have some long, angsty talk. So you gotta get your rest now. They won't ever let you outta this hellhole if you don't sleep."

He hummed in thought, and then finally cracked a real smile. "Did you just call Sam 'Gumby?'"

She nodded back, and for a moment they got to share a laugh. Again, it was probably due to the exhaustion, and the painkillers in Dean's case. But for the both of them that night, it was more than needed.

"You should paint him green during the next prank war," she suggested once they'd quieted down. She was slowly beginning to doze.

"You think?" Dean muttered next to her, his own eyelids feeling heavy.

"Definitely," she replied. And sometime in the next few minutes, they both fell asleep beside each other.

Melissa's heart was sick and broken and scared. Pamela was dead, Sam was fucked up, and Dean had one hell of a tough road ahead of him. And God (if he was out there) was doing nothing about the angels that were running around being dicks all over the Earth. But that night, she had no dreams. She didn't see Pamela's bloody mouth or Dean's torn-up face. She didn't see Lucifer raising, the final breaking of the seals, or the apocalypse. Because Dean was alive and breathing next to her. He'd spent forty years in Hell and lived to tell the tale. He was stronger than he knew. And that was all the faith she needed.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, next one down, only a few more in season four left to go! Hope y'all enjoyed this installment!

Special thanks goes to _**ImsebastianstanButter**_ and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your wonderful reviews! They are always greatly appreciated! :)

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought! I would love the feedback!

Peace and love.


	52. Chapter Twenty

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Born To Be Wild"** by Steppenwolf

\- " **Manic Depression"** by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

\- " **I Wanna Be Sedated"** by The Ramones

\- " **Blue"** by Joni Mitchell

 **Chapter Twenty**

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you take crack this morning or something?" Dean asked suspiciously from behind the wheel of the Impala, watching Melissa alternate between running her hands through her hair and singing along enthusiastically to the _Steppenwolf_ song blaring through the speakers. She was practically vibrating with energy.

"Dean, this is the first time in for fucking _ever_ since we've just been on a normal, non-angel, non-demon, hunt. Am I not allowed to be glad?" she said loudly over the music, gripping the front seat as she grinned. Sam only chuckled, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but this _is_ a little much. Even for you," he shook his head with an amused smirk.

"Okay, so I may have had a few cups of coffee this morning," she admitted, leaning against the backseat as the song switched to something a little more mellow.

"How many?" Sam raised an eyebrow at her.

"Five," she told them with a dismissive wave of her hand. She tapped excitedly on the seat in front of her, shifting a little every few seconds because of the stiff FBI costume.

" _Five_?" Dean repeated, laughing in spite of himself. "You're insane, you'll give yourself a heart attack."

"What the hell," she replied with a shrug. "Everybody's gotta go sometime."

Dean let the subject pass then, but his eyes softened as he continued his repeated looks back at her. She looked out the window, drummed a beat or two, bit at her lips. But he could see the exhaustion. He didn't think she'd slept one good wink the night before. He hadn't asked exactly what the dreams were about, but she had definitely muttered something about Pamela more than once. It was weighing on her hard; Pamela's death. It had become clear to Dean that Pamela was more than just a friend to Melissa, she'd been a mother and a sister and a safe place. A place maybe even safer than Bobby's. Because Pamela wasn't a hunter, and spending time with her made Melissa just a little bit closer to normal.

. . .

The comic shop was hidden away in a dirty alley, and it didn't surprise Melissa that someone had gone missing back there. But it was the ectoplasm left behind that had brought them there. Walking in together, they raised their badges in unison before introducing themselves. It smelled oddly of pine and smoke.

"Uh, may I help you?" the portly, bald man behind the counter with the piercings and the graphic t-shirt asked as the suited hunters approached the counter.

"Agents Garcia, Weir, and Hunter," Melissa told him snappily. Sam and Dean looked on at the man with thin smiles. "Just need to ask you a few questions."

"Notice anything strange in the building last couple of days?" Sam asked.

"Uh, I don't think so," the man replied. "Why?"

"What about any strange noises? Scittering in the walls? Like rats?" Sam continued.

"And the FBI is investigating a road problem?" the man asked skeptically, raising his eyebrows over his glasses.

"What about cold spots? Any sudden drops in temperature?" Sam ignored him again.

Suddenly, the face of the man behind the counter broke out into a grin. "I knew it! You guys are LARPing!"

"Beg your pardon?" Melissa asked, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her long, black coat. She should have invested in a pantsuit for winter. On this cold February day she was stuck in one of her usual pencil skirts.

"You're fans," the man behind the counter continued in his deduction.

"Fans of what?" Sam said.

"What is 'LARPing'?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"Like you don't know," the man behind the counter scoffed. They only gave him silence and he gave a little sigh before explaining it. "Live Action Role Playing. And pretty hardcore too!"

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talkin' about," Dean admitted with a laugh.

"You're asking questions like the building's haunted. Like those guys in the books. What are they called?" the man stopped to search his mind for a moment and then it dawned on him. "'Supernatural!' Two guys, use fake IDs with rock aliases, hunt down ghosts, vampires, demons. Sometimes they got some junkie girl with 'em. What are their names? Steve and Dirk? Sal and Dane? And...Mildred?"

"Sam, Dean, and Melissa?" Sam offered dejectedly.

The man snapped his fingers in confirmation. "That's it!"

"So you're saying this is a book?" Melissa asked, roaming her eyes over the rest of the grimy little store.

"Books," the man said. "It was a series. Didn't sell too many copies, though."

He paused for a moment, stepping out from behind the counter and over to the 'Bargain Bin' near the back of the store.

"Yeah," he muttered, pulling out a random copy. "I think that's the first one," he told them, handing it over to Dean.

"'Supernatural' by Carver Edlund," Dean read aloud, flipping to a summary on the back cover. "'On a lonely California highway, a woman in white lures men to their deaths.'"

"Gimme that," Sam murmured urgently, grabbing the book from Dean's hands. He looked it over for a moment and then flicked his eyes up to the employee. "We're gonna need all the copies of 'Supernatural' you got."

. . .

After doing a little research in their motel room, it was discovered that the 'Supernatural' series was unpopular, with only a cult following. They'd only published for about three years, then went bankrupt, but Melissa still couldn't believe they'd been published in the first place. Stranger still that the fact that there was even books about them at all was the fact that there was so much fanfiction about them. Whether it be about Melissa and Dean, Melissa and _Sam_ , or Sam _and_ Dean. Together. Incesty stuff. It had been an eye-opening trip onto the interwebs to say the least.

Next stop was the publisher's house, because as it turned out, Carver Edlund was a pen name. Naturally. She was a pretty woman with red and white streaked hair and a long cardigan. Her house smelled vaguely like incense and her brown eyes were wide and lively. Melissa dug it.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books?" Sam asked casually as they strolled through the woman's house into her office.

Melissa nudged Dean along the way, gesturing to the signed Grateful Dead poster the woman had on her wall as Sam kept her attention.

"This lady is badass," she whispered excitedly, her thumbs hooked in the loopholes of her jeans. Her mood had heightened even further after changing out of the monkey suits, back into her grey henley and her boots. Sure, the day had been weird as hell, but they still seemed to be clear of angels and demons. And, of course, the caffeine crash hadn't happened yet.

Dean only scoffed, a small smile sneaking its way onto his face. "Hippie." He had to take her by the hand to drag her away from it and lead her behind Sam.

"These books," the woman looked to the shelf full of 'Supernatural' paperbacks as she sat down behind the desk, "they never really got the attention they deserved. All people wanna read these days is that romance crap. 'Doctor Sexy-MD?' Please."

Melissa smirked. "Well, we're hopin' our article will...shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah...yeah," the publisher perked up, "because you know, if we got a little good press, maybe we could start publishing again."

"No, no, no, no," Dean blurted out awkwardly. "God, no. I mean...why would you wanna do that? It's such a complete, uh, series. What with Dean goin' to hell an' all."

Melissa stared down at her boots for moment.

The publisher's eyes shone a little oddly with tears. "Oh, my god! That was one of my favorites, because Dean was so strong...and sad...and brave. And afterwards, Melissa...with the hunting and the drugs and the men. Their love was so pure," she said in nearly a whisper.

Swallowing thickly, Melissa shifted a little on her feet.

"And Sam..." the woman continued, "I mean the best parts are when they cry. Gosh...if only real men were so open and in touch with their feelings."

"Real men?" Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," the publisher shrugged. "How often do you cry like that, hm?"

"Well," Dean said with a blank smile, "I'm crying on the inside."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" the woman asked defensively, a crease between her brows.

"Lady, everything about this is funny," Dean told her with a smirk. Melissa elbowed him in the ribs and smiled at the publisher politely. That seemed to calm the woman's nerves. She crossed her arms and watched them carefully.

"How do I know you three are legit, huh? Why do they need three reporters for one story anyway?"

"Oh, trust me, we're legit," Dean assured her, ignoring that last question.

"Well, I don't want any smartass articles makin' fun of my boys," she told them, eyebrows raised defiantly.

"N-no! Never!" Sam stammered convincingly. "We're um...we're actually big fans."

"Hmmm," she murmured, "You've read the books?"

"Cover to cover," Dean confirmed as the other two nodded in agreement.

"What's the year and model of the car?" the publisher quizzed.

"'67 Chevy Impala," Dean answered with a satisfied smirk.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my-uh...Sam's birthday," Sam said, almost slipping up.

"January 24th's Dean's. October 13th is Melissa's," Dean continued. Anything to get the name.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"One…" Sam began, looking doubtfully to Sam and Melissa, "Seventy-four?"

"Dean's favorite song?" the woman brushed past each answer and onto the next question.

"It's a tie," Dean said immediately. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Travelin' Riverside Blues.'"

"What's Melissa's sister's name? How old was she when she died?"

Melissa smiled thinly. "Rosie. She was six."

The publisher ginned, her eyes satisfied. "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name?" Sam got straight to the point.

"Oh, no," the publisher refused politely, looking down at her desk with a guilty smile. "Sorry-I can't do that."

"We just wanna talk to 'im," Sam pleaded, "Y'know...get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she said with a shake of her head. "He's like Salinger."

"Please," Sam said. "Like I said we're um…"

He paused for a moment, then pulled down his short a little, revealing his anti-possession tattoo. "Big fans."

The publisher looked to Melissa and Dean expectantly. Glancing at each other for a moment, they both mirrored Sam and exposed their ink. Melissa's, which she'd finally gotten around to when Dean took his necklace back, was covered a little by the edge of her bra, but the publisher got the message.

"Awesome," the woman breathed in admiration. "You know what?" she said, suddenly standing up, turning around, and hiking up her skirt to show them a matching tattoo on her asscheek. "I got one too."

"Whoa," Dean said, attempting a smile but ending up with a cringe. "You're a real fan."

"Okay," the publisher smiled, going over to scribble something on a piece of paper for them. "His name's Chuck Shurley, and he's a genius, so don't piss 'im off."

. . .

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Melissa rung the doorbell. The caffeine crash had hit sometime between the publisher's upscale hippie pad to Chuck Shurley's ramshackle two-story on the far edge of the Illinois town. Now, she was tired, edgy, and about as pissed as Sam and Dean that their lives were being put on display for the world to read. She glanced over at Dean as they waited, tapping the toe of her boot impatiently on the creaky wood of the porch.

They were just about to pick the lock when the door opened with a fast rush of the chilly air. A disheveled man in a stained bathrobe with a reddish brown five o'clock shadow shading his cheeks came face-to-face with them.

"You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asked, a bite in his voice.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the 'Supernatural' books?" Sam finished.

"Maybe," the man said suspiciously. "Why?"

"I'm Dean, this is Sam. And that's Melissa," Dean told him. "The ones you've been writing about."

Chuck's haggard face fell and he shut the door quickly. Melissa huffed and rung the bell once more.

Hesitantly, Chuck reopened the door, keeping half his body hidden. "Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really I do. It's...uh...always nice to hear from the fans. But for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

He went to close the door once more but Melissa stopped him halfway. "Thing is? We have a life. You've been using it for your books."

She forced her way in, pushing Chuck behind the door as the boys followed her. The place reeked of alcohol and hunger.

"Now, wait a minute," Chuck pleaded nervously, his voice shaking. "Now, this isn't funny."

"Damn straight, it ain't funny," Dean barked out, turning to the scrawny man as they stood in his foyer.

"Look, we just wanna know how you're doing it," Sam went after Chuck as he retreated into his living room, attempting to reason. The room was cluttered with papers and liquor bottles.

"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck insisted, looking to the three hunters as he backed up toward his couch.

"Are you a hunter?" Melissa ventured.

"No! I'm a writer!" Chuck told them.

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean asked sternly, taking a step towards Chuck, who fell back onto his couch in fear. "And Tulpas, and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of _Misery_ thing?" Chuck asked warily. "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a _Misery_ thing isn't it?!"

"No, it's not a _Misery_ thing! Believe me, we are not fans," Dean barked.

"Well, then what do you want?!" Chuck choked out.

"I'm Dean, that's Sam, and that's Melissa," Dean answered earnestly, gesturing between the three of them.

"They're fictional characters!" Chuck yelled insistently. "I made them up!"

Melissa exchanged a look with the boys and sighed. "Follow us."

. . .

Propping up the decoy trunk bottom, Dean revealed their arsenal. Sam watched Chuck expectantly, his hands on his hips. Melissa stared down at the weapons: Dean's pearlescent-handled revolver, her flare gun, the demon knife. All of it. She almost laughed at herself remembering this was what they called their job. _Murderers_ , she thought vaguely, but shook it off. She couldn't be Dean. She couldn't blame herself. It wasn't constructive.

"Are those real guns?" Chuck asked in a meek voice.

"Yup," Dean said to Chuck almost proudly. "This is real rock salt, and those are real fake IDs."

"Well, I've gotta hand it to you guys, you really are my number one fans" Chuck said, backing up towards his house. The sky was a murky gray and the wind nipped at their cheeks. "Th-that's awesome. I...think I've got some posters in my house."

"Chuck," Dean spoke up warily, "stop."

"Please," Chuck raised his hand defensively, speaking weakly. "Wait. Please. Don't hurt me."

Melissa pinched at the bridge of her nose and sighed, feeling the sting of fatigue in her eyes. The fact that their life was on display for the world made her feel a little suffocated.

"How much do you know?" Sam took a step towards the terrified Chuck. "Do you know about the angels? Or about Lilith breaking the seals?"

"Wait a minute," Chuck perked up. "How do you know about that?"

"The question is how do you?" Melissa asked darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because I wrote it," he replied simply.

"You kept writing?" Dean chimed in.

"Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out," Chuck shook his head a little, his voice more even now. "Okay, wait a minute. Is this a prank? Did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean ran a hand over his face defeatedly and sighed a little. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam. And that's Melissa Lowry."

There was a pause as Chuck stared at them almost vacantly. "Last names were never in the books. I never even wrote that down."

. . .

They all stood back in the dirty living room, and Chuck poured himself a big glass of whiskey. Melissa's head was pounding, and she could see that Dean was so angry he was almost jumping out of his skin. But Sam...something was off about Sam. Even more off than usual. His face was drawn in exhaustion and his eyes were angsty.

Chuck turned a big gulp and turned back to them. "Oh, you're still there!" Chuck grimaced.

"Yup," Dean replied grimly.

"You're not a hallucination…"

"Nope."

Melissa bit at her nails a little as she leaned against the wall, her head throbbing.

"Well, there's only one explanation," Chuck piped up again after a minute. "I'm obviously a god."

Melissa scoffed. "You're not a god."

"Well, how else do you explain it? I write things and they come to life," Chuck said, the whiskey sloshing around in his glass as he paced around, his eyes glinting in mania. "Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel...cruel, capricious god. The things I put you through…the physical beatings alone..."

"Yeah, well, we're still in one piece," Dean told him.

"I killed your father!" Chuck continued guiltily. "I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica."

"Chuck…" Sam tried to quiet the crazed writer. (Or whatever he was.)

"And _you_ ," Chuck pointed to Melissa, she perked up a little, her brow furrowed. "My god, your family, your _sister_ , Allen, the drugs...and now with-"

"What?" she asked, stepping forward as he stopped short. Chuck's eyes flitted nervously to Sam, but he stayed silent for a moment. Sam's jaw clenched.

"I toyed with your lives for the sake of entertainment…" Chuck continued, shrugging it off.

"You didn't toy with us, Chuck," Dean chimed in before Melissa could insist anymore. "Okay? You didn't create us."

"Did you really have to live through the bugs?" Chuck squeaked.

"Yeah," Dean rolled his eyes. Melissa squirmed a little. Dean hated flying, she hated bugs.

"What about the ghost ship?"

"Yes, that too," Dean replied, losing patience.

"I am so sorry," Chuck rambled. "I mean, horror's one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing? If I'd have known it was real, I would've done another pass."

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Melissa barked.

"We think you're just psychic," Sam said with a lighter tone, casting an uneasy glance at Melissa.

"No," Chuck told them with finality. "If I was psychic, why would I be writing? Writing is hard."

Chuck slumped back into his desk chair, pages littering the worn wood in front of him.

"It seems that you're just somehow...focused on our lives," Sam made yet another attempt at reason.

"Yeah, laser-focused," Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you working on anything right now?"

Chuck's face fell in realization. "Holy crap."

"What?" Melissa asked, resting her hands on the desk in front of him.

The bedraggled writer fiddled with the pages in front of him. "The latest, uh, book. It's...uh, kinda weird."

"'Weird' how?" Sam asked, all three hunters coming to stand closer to the desk.

"It's very Vonnegut," Chuck explained.

" _Slaughterhouse-Five_ Vonnegut or _Cat's Cradle_ Vonnegut?" Dean leaned down at Chuck with a grim look.

"What?" Sam chirped, furrowing his brows.

"What?" Dean retorted defensively.

Melissa smirked.

"It's more _Kilgore Trout_ Vonnegut…" Chuck went on, "I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself...at my house...confronted by my characters."

. . .

Still just running on fumes, Melissa threw the door to the convenience store open, her boots stamping loudly on the linoleum floor. During their visit to the laundromat earlier in the afternoon, Chuck had gotten back to work on the new book. And apparently tonight was the night for the big Lilith showdown. A showdown which involved Sam sleeping with the white-eyed demon. Dean had been appalled, but in all honesty, Melissa wasn't completely surprised. Lilith was just a step up from Ruby. The story _also_ involved Dean being hit by a minivan. And Melissa'd had such high hopes for a normal hunt.

They'd already tried to just get the hell outta dodge, but the only bridge out of town was under construction. Naturally. So the most they could do now was the exact opposite of what Chuck's book entailed. Melissa had skimmed the book where she first met the boys. And it was word-for-word. She was doubtful. But they just had to try their damndest to avoid Sam sinking into the throes of "fiery demonic passion," as Chuck had so aptly put it.

First few rules included: no research for Sam, no fighting, no riding around in the Impala for Dean, and no more caffeine for Melissa. Without coffee, what she'd really wanted was a cigarette. But she also wasn't allowed to fight with Dean, so it was a bit of a predicament. Instead, she had wandered over to the grimy little store as Dean parked the Impala in the municipal lot and Sam tried to figure out what to do with himself without research, in search of some nicotine gum. It was going to be a long night.

"M'am I can't accept your change," the pubescent cashier argued with Melissa hesitantly as she checked out.

"Just keep the damn nickel!" she snapped, running a hand through her hair. Before the teenager in front of her could reply, the screech of tires sounded outside.

Melissa snatched the gum and ran outside immediately. Her heart was sinking. Out on the road in front of her, a frantic woman and a little girl kneeling in front of Dean, who lay before a beat-up green minivan. Melissa shoved through the sparse crowd, muttering the occasional worried "excuse me" along the way. By the time she got over, Dean was sitting up, pink flower band-aids peppering his face. She pushed the apparent driver out of the way instantly.

"Hey!" the woman yelled, grabbing her daughter away at the sight of Melissa.

"This is my boyfriend, bitch!" Melissa growled, squatting down before Dean taking his shoulders.

"Go easy on 'er," Dean said, his eyes glossy and his words slow. Melissa furrowed her brows.

"How's your head? Do you feel nauseous? How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked rapidly, holding up four fingers.

"Calm down, I'm fine," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up along with him.

"You just got hit by a fucking minivan, Dean," she insisted as she followed him, walking back across the street to the Impala.

"Bigger fish, Missy," he said gruffly. "Oh, no…" he choked out, seeing the shattered rear window of the Impala as they approached it.

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

"Not two seconds after I parked it, these damn kids started breakin' in...I was gonna give him a piece o' my mind, but then that minivan…" he trailed off, frowning as he saw the band-aids the woman's daughter had put on his face in the reflection of the back window.

"Okay, I'll get a tarp and then I'd say it's time to pay Chuck a visit," she said, her hands on her hips. "And I'm drivin.' If you've got a concussion I'm not havin' you fall asleep and slam into a tree or somethin' on the way over there."

. . .

Dean was looking alarmingly pale by the time they made it to Chuck's, and he sat slightly hunched over in the ratty armchair of the living room as they waited for the writer to return from wherever it was he had gone.

"Are you _sure_ you don't wanna just swing by the hospital?" Melissa asked him again, emerging from Chuck's small kitchen with some coffee for them. Breaking in had been easy but they'd been waiting for almost an hour.

"For the last damn time, I'm _fine_ ," Dean grumbled. She sat down on the arm of his chair and handed him one of the steaming mugs.

"Okay, slugger, I'm just checkin,'" she shrugged, running a hand down the nape of his neck.

He smiled weakly up at her as she took the first sip of her coffee, trying to ease the sting of fatigue in her eyes.

Just then, Chuck scurried in with a bottle of Jack in one hand and a six-pack in the other. He darted immediately for the living room.

"Melissa...Dean…" he said slowly, avoiding their eyes.

"I take it you knew we'd be here," Dean said sullenly from the chair. Melissa stood, her arms crossed.

"Dean, you look terrible," Chuck told him meekly.

"That's because I just got him by a minivan, Chuck," Dean said with a bite in his voice.

"Oh," Chuck replied.

"That it?" Melissa shouted, taking a step towards Chuck. "Every fucking thing you write comes true, and all you have to say is 'oh?'"

"Please don't yell at me," Chuck breathed fearfully.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling us?" Melissa continued harshly.

"What wouldn't I be telling you?" Chuck asked.

"How you know what you know, for starters!" Dean chimed in, coming to stand behind Melissa.

"I don't know how I know, I just do!" Chuck insisted.

"That's not good enough," Melissa said angrily, shoving Chuck against the wall. "How the hell are you doin' this?!"

"Melissa, let him go!" Castiel's voice appeared out of nowhere.

Almost jumping out of her skin, Melissa released Chuck and turned to face the trench-coated angel. Her cheeks flushed in anger. She hadn't exactly gotten over the whole forcing Dean to torture Alastair thing yet.

"This man is to be protected," Castiel said solemnly.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"He's a prophet of the Lord."

. . .

The crickets were singing and the sky was starry. Melissa dozed on the hood of the Impala, one hand behind her head and the other resting on her stomach. Dean was attempting to get Sam to leave with them, out of the town in some way. Even if they had to swim. She knew it wasn't her place to be in there with them. She was done trying to reason with Sam. God knows she'd tried. So she lay there on the hood in the parking lot of the motel, hoping Sam would emerge with Dean, but knowing in all reality he wouldn't. You couldn't save someone who didn't want to be saved.

Dean's footfalls brought her out of her bleak reverie, and she sat up with a yawn.

"How'd it go?" she asked as he approached the car under the light of the stars and the streetlamps.

"He thinks he can beat her," Dean said tiredly, running a hand over his face.

"Godammit," she muttered.

"I know," he said, sliding a couple coins in to the soda machine near the car. She put her hair up in a messy ponytail and bit her lips in frustration. It was bad. It was real bad. She'd seen him tear Alastair apart, but Lilith was _not_ Alastair, and Sam was _not_ strong enough.

"Well," Dean turned around and looked at her shyly, "I feel stupid doin' this but...I am fresh outta options." He closed his eyes before he continued. "So please. I need help. I'm prayin,' okay? Come on. Please."

"Prayer is a sign of faith," Castiel's rough voice broke through the silence of the night. "This is a good thing, Dean."

Melissa brought a hand to her heart and jumped. She was already anxious enough that Sam was most likely gonna get iced by Lilith or one of her minions without Castiel popping up out of nowhere.

"Jesus, Castiel, ring a bell or somethin' first will ya?" she scolded him.

"Does this mean you'll help me?" Dean asked desperately.

"I'm not sure what I can do," Castiel replied.

"You can drag Sam outta here now," Dean suggested bitterly. "Before Lilith gets to him."

"It's a prophecy. I can't interfere," Castiel insisted.

"You have tested me and thrown me every which way. And I've never asked for anything. Not a damn thing," Dean demanded. "But now I'm asking. I need your help. Please."

"What you're asking…" Castiel said guiltily, casting a nervous glance at Melissa who still leaned against the hood with a dark look, "It's not within my power."

"What? Because it's 'divine prophecy?'" Dean scoffed.

Dean continued for a little longer, but Castiel never relented. He simply couldn't defy his orders. It wasn't in his blood. For a moment, some empathy struck Melissa and she almost felt sorry for him. Never having an original feeling or thought. But then she remembered Dean's bloody face after his bout with Alastair and all of those feelings dissolved. Finally, Dean just got fed up and told the angel off.

"Screw you," the eldest Winchester grounded out. "You and your mission. Your God. If you don't tell me now...when the time comes and you need me, don't come knockin.'"

Dean began to brush past the angel and walk back to the car, but Castiel stopped him.

"Dean...Dean!"

"What?!" Dean snapped.

"You must understand why I can't intercede. Prophets are very special. They're protected," Castiel explained.

"I get that," Dean said impatiently.

"If anything threatens a prophet," Castiel went on, "anything at all...an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They're absolute. They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon."

"These archangels…" Melissa chimed in, "they're tied to prophets?"

"Yes."

"So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon-" Dean began.

"Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down upon that demon," Castiel finished for him. "Just so you understand why I can't help."

Castiel gave Dean a knowing look and Dean nodded.

"Thanks Cas," he said.

"Good luck," the angel replied.

. . .

Muscles finally relaxing, Melissa leaned her forehead down on Dean's shoulder as the scalding water showered down on them. They were halfway back to South Dakota, but they just had to stop. Melissa still insisted on driving, and she was almost ready to pass out by the time the sun was rising. Sam maybe could've taken over, but he was just about as exhausted as she was after almost making a deal with Lilith. His soul for her to stop breaking the seals, and sex was the only way to make things official. Now the whole "fiery demonic passion" thing made sense, but they'd stopped it by finally dragging Chuck into the same room as Lilith. But to be honest, it'd been a bit too close of a call for all of them.

Melissa shivered a little though the water was warm. Dean's arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, and her hands rested on his neck, his chin on top of her head.

"I'm tired," he breathed.

"I'm sorry," she replied, stroking his hair.

"It ain't your fault."

"Yeah, maybe if I was with you the minivan thing wouldn't've happened," she said guiltily.

"Don't do that," he said softly. There was a pause and she took in a shaky breath.

"I miss Pamela," she admitted, feeling her heart beating against her ribs.

"I know, honey," he kissed the top of her head. "You just need sleep."

"I don't need sleep, Dean," she scoffed tearfully. "I need people to stop dying. I need to stop dreaming about ghosts. I-" she began and then stopped short, grip tightening on his neck just a little.

"What?"

"I wish you didn't have this life," she nearly whispered, her voice low under the hiss of the water.

"If I didn't have this life I wouldn't know you," he replied, and she could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest against her breasts.

"And you wouldn't know about monsters, and Sammy would be some hotshot lawyer married to the love of his life, and your life wouldn't be some book," she sighed.

"Why are you sayin' this?" he asked, stepping away a little and looking into her stormy eyes.

"I don't know...maybe I'm tired too…" she smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing.

"No really, what?" he insisted, bringing a gentle hand up and down her side, from her hip to her ribs, giving her goosebumps.

"If we didn't end up here...all these people wouldn't be dead, I guess…" she said slowly, not really knowing what she wanted to say. "I'm just, God, Dean...I'm so angry. At the angels, at their God, at your dad, at my dad…"

"Your dad?" he asked, furrowing his brows as he watched angry tears start to roll down her cheeks, mixing with the shower.

She sighed through her nose. "He was driving."

He watched her sadly for a moment, lifting the wet hair away from her shoulders and bring his hands to her cheeks.

"And I just let it happen, I let myself become this thing…" she said, her face heating up in his hands and her eyes searching around frantically. "I was just...reading about us today...about _this_...why? Why is it us?"

"I don't know. I don't know if it's meant to be or if it just happens. But someone's gotta save the world," he shrugged with a sad smile. He brought her back close to him. "Just breathe, baby…" he told her, kissing her shoulder. "Don't focus on anything else. Breathe."

He felt her calm down against him and sighed a little in relief. Reading about himself had told him two things, one: he needed Sammy to live, and two: he needed Missy to live. He didn't care about anything else. Not the angels or the demons or Lucifer. Not in that moment.

 **Author's Note:** Hello all! It's been awhile, but since I'm doing longer chapters now I hope it evens out. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Getting pretty close to Lucifer now, aren't we? ;)

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**LoveFiction2018**_ , and _**Ladysunshine6**_ for you reviews! Thank you so much! Feedback is always appreciated and it keeps this story going!

Until next time!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love!


	53. Chapter Twenty-One: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Both Sides Now"** by Joni Mitchell

 **Chapter Twenty-One** **:** Part One

Blowing out a long breath, Melissa sniffed and wiped at her cheeks as she pulled off her headphones and let them sit around her neck. It wasn't just that Pamela was dead or that the apocalypse was getting nearer everyday, it was that she felt like she was losing a part of herself. She didn't spend enough time remembering. The night was pitch black and stormy, odd for March, but it looked like Spring was coming early. They'd just finished up a salt and burn in Delaware and no one was too bloodied. A few bruises here and there, but it was to be expected. Her mind was swimming with faces of the past that night, for no particular reason. And so, she pulled out her trusty mixtapes and went on a little trip down memory lane. Songs she hadn't listened to in years. A tape she had initially worried had disintegrated from age.

She cleared her throat, trying to calm her noisy nerves, looking around the mostly dark room. It was a mixture of Stevie Nicks, Joni Mitchell, and Grateful Dead; and it always got to her.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked huskily from beside her, naked save for his boxers and his necklace. His eyes were still shut when she looked over and his voice was muffled as his face was half-squashed in the pillow.

"Nothing," she said, swallowing hastily and continuing to wipe at her cheeks. "Go back to sleep."

"Not likely," he smirked sleepily, cracking his green eyes open. "Are you crying?"

She put her cassette player and headphones on the rickety nightstand next to her, laying back down beside him on the lumpy motel mattress. "I'm not crying...really…"

"What is it then?" he insisted, draping a warm arm over her waist as they faced each other.

"I just haven't heard those songs in a long time," she told him sleepily. He could feel her breath on his face. After a moment, she closed her eyes and smiled. "I used to live above a tattoo shop, you know."

"What?" he blurted out, slowly waking up.

"Yeah, I was an apprentice...kind of," she explained slowly, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Look at you."

Not meeting his eyes, she smiled wider. "I have something to show you," she said softly, leaving the bed and going over to her duffel. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Dean switched the lamp on his nightstand on and sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his bare chest.

"What is it, Missy?" he asked expectantly as she rifled through her duffel.

"Patience is a virtue, Dean," she replied with a smirk. He rolled his eyes.

"Not at two in the morning."

"Aha!" she cried proudly, pulling out a smallish metal box and taking her place back next to him in bed. Her eyes were bleary with sleep as she took her glasses off her nightstand and donned them. Without another word, she grabbed a stack of photos from the slightly rusty box and handed them over to Dean, who had been sat watching with furrowed brows.

He squinted at them for a moment, trying to get his bearings, then his eyes widened and he cracked a grin. "Oh my god. Is that you?"

Melissa nodded and rested her sleepy head on his shoulder to look them over with him. "Yeah."

"You're so cute!" he said with glee. In the photo, she must have been no more than four or five. She was giving a big grin, standing alone in the middle of a dance studio. A vision in pink, she had on a leotard, ballet shoes, the works. Her dark hair was short and thinner than it was now, and her young face was clear.

"I don't know," she shrugged, her eyes alight with nostalgia. "My teeth were fucked up. Actually, my teeth are still weird. I never got braces."

His small smile as he gazed at mini-Melissa was odd, almost proud? She couldn't tell. "Your teeth are fine," he said absently. Then he looked over at her more earnestly, "Does this mean you like to dance?"

Her cheeks burned almost crimson instantly, but again she only shrugged. "A long time ago."

"How have I known you for this long and you never told me that?"

"I don't know!" she said in her defense with a small laugh. "It never came up."

He looked over at her with mock suspicion for a moment, but said nothing more. Dean continued to flip through the worn collection of polaroids, before another one caught his eye. Melissa was again dressed in her ballet getup, but it must have been a few years later. She looked six or seven. Next to her, a tall woman had a hand on her shoulder.

"That's her, isn't it?" he asked softly.

Melissa, beginning to doze, snapped her eyes open and gave a little smile at the picture. "My mom? Yeah, that's her."

"What was her name?" he eyed the woman in the photo. It was only then that Dean realized he'd never asked Melissa this question, and immediately felt bad about it. The woman was beautiful. Her black hair was curly and went past her shoulders. Her skin was tanned, and her brown eyes lively. Truthfully, she and Melissa looked almost nothing alike, save for the slender face and youthful features. But especially the smile. They both had those smiles that were big and genuine. Carefree, almost.

"Eileen," Melissa replied. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "I don't know if you can tell, but I didn't get any of her Cuban genes. May dad was Polish...got most of my looks from him. Except the hair."

"No, actually...I can see the resemblance," he told her. The more he looked at it, the more he saw they shared the same special sort of beauty. "Really, Missy, I think you look just like her."

She chuckled tiredly. "Then you might need glasses too."

He said nothing else, stopping for a moment to kiss her hair before he passed the picture to the back of the stack.

There were a few more, and going through them Dean began to notice they were in chronological order. The next one he stopped to really eye was hazier, taken in front of a ramshackle white house. It seemed the whole family was there. It was Melissa's father that caught Dean's interest. Melissa was the only one who had his pale skin and light eyes. But nobody seemed to have caught the blond genes.

"What are everyone else's names?" he asked. He sighed a little to himself. She knew pretty much everything about his family, but he'd never had the balls to really ask her about hers. Though he doubted she would have answered. She needed her own time. It felt so intimate, seeing the photos for the first time. The things Melissa kept locked away in her heart and her head.

"Well, oldest to youngest, my brothers were Danny, Tommy, and Ricky. My dad's name was Rob. This was I think only a couple months before everything. And that's them."

"Hm," he hummed in response, studying their faces a little. There was a slight edge in her voice, so he moved past it.

The last two pictures were stuck together with something that Dean hoped was soda, and he had to bite back an audible gasp when he saw them.

"What. The. Hell," he said a little louder, his grin spreading. Melissa perked up a little and as she focused in on them she laughed.

"You never told me you used to dress like a Sex Pistols groupie!" he beamed at her. The first one showed her on someone's lap. Dean assumed this was Allen. He was smiling widely at the camera, brown eyes creased at the edges and dark hair falling a little in his face. Melissa was kissing his cheek.

What Dean didn't expect was for her hair to be cropped to her chin, with safety pins stuck where her earrings should have gone. She had on a plaid shirt, a leather skirt, and some fishnets. He couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he saw black lipstick to match the heavy shadow on her eyes as well.

"Shut up," she said happily. "We were punk. We were _cultured_."

"That's one word for it," he snorted. His face softened a little looking at it more. He sighed in a melancholy way. "You looked...so happy."

She had to work to keep a frown of her face and her voice light. "It just wasn't meant to be, Dean. And I think you know I wasn't really happy."

He gave her an apologetic amile and studied the photo one last time. Behind the teenage couple, smoke billowed from an ashtray, and clothes were strewn around what looked like a very dingy apartment. Melissa looked positively lethargic, and he saw the sunkenness in Allen's face. She was right. The photo looked like a moment of happiness, not a lifetime. He flipped past it.

The last photo of the stack was different. It showed Melissa from the side, hunched over a long table that Dean for a moment thought had a dead body resting on it. But when he saw the tattoo gun in her hand, everything made a hell of a lot more sense. There was a crease between her brows in concentration and her tongue stuck out just a touch between her lips.

"Damn," he said, impressed. "You weren't kiddin' about the apprentice thing, huh?"

But when he looked down at her, he saw her breathing had slowed and her face was relaxed. Smirking a little, he put the photos down on the table next to him, hoping some memories may have eased her mind.

. . .

Broken out in a cold sweat, Dean shot up with a gasp, shifting Melissa at his side. His dream had been fine, fishing alone on a cool, misty pier, before Castiel showed up. All he said what that there was something that needed to be said, in a place even more private than Dean's own head. And then Dean was given an address.

Melissa cleared her throat groggily from his side. "What is it?"

He didn't bother looking back at her, his eyes wild. "We got somewhere to be."

 **Author's Note:** I know this is late and short, but I've been dealing with a whole hell of a lot lately. I'm really hoping things slow down soon so I can start posting more. Thanks for sticking with me, though!

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews! Thank you so much and I'm so flattered that y'all review so regularly!

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and I'll do my best to get another up soon!

Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	54. Chapter Twenty-One: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- **"The Wheel"** by The Grateful Dead

\- **"Bridge Over Troubled Water"** by Simon and Garfunkel

 **Chapter Twenty-One** **:** Part Two

The sun was just rising when they arrived at the lonely warehouse. Sam was as pissy as ever and his eyes were exhausted. Something told Melissa he hadn't slept at all. The place was trashed, desolate. Scrap metal littered the dirty concrete floors and there were piles of rubbles in every nook and cranny. Melissa breathed in the dusty smell and searched around, her flashlight cocked over her gun. She felt...better. Or at least she thought she did. An indescribible weight had been lifted. She'd let Dean into her world a little more, something she hadn't been truly able to do since embarking on her own. It wasn't everything, but it was a start.

She could see Dean was troubled by the dangerous look in his eyes and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped his gun. Whatever Castiel was going to tell them, it was big.

"What was so important, Dean?" Sam asked again, flashing his light around worriedly.

"If I knew, would I be here?" Dean retorted, leading the way up a rickety set of stairs to the next floor.

The upper level of the building surpassed being trashed; it looked like a warzone. None of them said a word as they waded their way through rubble. Melissa could hardly tell what the purpose of the warehouse had been before whatever happened.

"What the hell?" Dean piped up, kicking things aside as he walked.

"It looks like a bomb went off," Sam appraised.

Early light streamed lowly through the broken windows and Melissa stayed quiet as she searched around for any sign of Castiel. A few more minutes of wandering around, and Dean finally got a lead. A symbol written in blood on the wall, the same one Anna had used in the cabin to banish the angels.

"So...what? Castiel was fighting other angels?" Melissa asked, hands on her hips as she stared at the symbol, the boys getting farther away as they picked through the wreckage.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged, calling back to her. A moment later, a weak cough came from a pile of soot and rock. A certain treanch-coated angel lay limp but alive. Dean immediately went to help Castiel, calling Sam and Melissa over.

"Hey...Cas?" Dean ventured, watching the angels eyes clear only slightly as they all crouched around him.

"What's...what's going on?" Castiel asked breathlessly, eyes darting around the room.

"Just take it easy," Melissa swallowed nervously, wondering who'd been the victim: Castiel or his enemies.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam echoed Melissa's concerns.

"Ugh," Castiel groaned, a hand on his aching head. "Castiel. I'm not Castiel. It's me."

Melissa raised her eyebrows. "Who's 'me'?"

"Jimmy," the man (possibly Castiel?) replied. "My name's Jimmy."

"What?" Dean blurted out. "Where the hell's Castiel?"

"He's gone."

. . .

His name was Jimmy Novak, and his home was Pontiac, Illinois. They'd come close to the middle of the country, stopping at a motel off some back road. The town was full of pine trees, and the crisp air was homey as they stood outside, debating Jimmy's fate. He'd been a devout man, and become a vessel. Castiel had split during the angel brawl, back to heaven is what one would assume. But according to Jimmy, it had been over a year since he'd seen his wife or his daughter. It would be a hell of a surprise for him to show up outta nowhere.

"Dean, he's the only lead we got," Sam reasoned, half his face lit up by the glow of the soda machine next to him. Jimmy was back in the motel room eating like a starved man.

"He doesn't know anything," Dean said, his face stern.

"Are you a hundred percent about that?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. "You think he's lying? What, you wanna go Guantanamo on the guy?"

"Dean, maybe he doesn't even know what he knows," Sam continued.

"Huh?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"I say, at least we get him to Bobby's and stay for a day or two. Maybe all he needs is some hypnosis. Hell, maybe Cas'll just drop back into him," Sam said, pacing around a little as he thought.

"I don't know, man," Dean scratched his head nervously.

"Dean," Sam began seriously, "back there, that was angel-on-angel violence. Now, I don't know what's goin' on here, but it's big. We can't just let a lead like that go."

"He's right," Melissa chimed in for the first time. She tugged at the sleeves of her henley and looked down at her boots, eyeing the scuffs. "We ain't got much else to go on, and I know for a fact there's less than ten seals left. And I'm not so sure that guy just walkin' back into his life after a year is such a good idea."

Dean ran a hand down his face and shook his head.

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You remember when this job was about helping people?" he asked, looking straight into her eyes. "Getting them back to their families?"

"You think I don't wanna help him?" Melissa retorted, trying not to feel guilty. "Dean, if we wanna question him, you can damn well bet the demons do, too. You really wanna send him back to his family with those black-eyed bitches on his ass?"

Dean sighed once more, and Melissa gave Sam a nervous, sideways glance. But the eldest Winchester only turned back and walked toward the motel room in defeat.

. . .

The next morning, Jimmy had vanished. Apparently, in the early hours of the morning, Sam had gone to get a coke, and Jimmy had slipped right past him. Melissa felt as though the silence were swallowing her up as she rode in the back of the Impala, watching cornfield after cornfield pass by the window.

"Hey, guys," Anna appeared and spoke up suddenly.

Melissa jumped and turned to Anna angrily. "Jesus Christ!"

"Dammit!" Dean swerved over for a moment before regaining control.

"Smooth," Anna deadpanned from Melissa's left side.

"Ever try callin' ahead?" Dean snapped.

"I like the element of surprise," Anna replied.

Anna proceeded to deliver grim news as always: Castiel got ripped from his vessel and dragged back to Heaven. They didn't know who, but he must have gotten someone seriously pissed off. After filling them in, Anna disappeared as quickly as she had come, leaving a cosmic-sized hole in her place. Melissa still felt very uneasy around the angels. They were nothing like she expected them to be. Hours passed, and the sun shone brightly in the cozy heat of the afternoon.

Melissa had awoken from a brief sleep, staring out the window again, trying to avoid the relative silence of the car. She glanced into the side mirror, and that was all it took. She noticed it. The way Sam bit at his nails, twirling his phone around nervously in his free hand. His eyes were wide and glassy, skin shiny with light perspiration. His face was sallow, and his brow was set in frustration. Dean stared straight ahead, dead set on finding Jimmy, a little pissed at both the other hunters for disagreeing with him the night before. If they'd listened to him, they wouldn't taken Jimmy home, but at least then he would have had protection. Now, he was out on his own, and whoever Casitel had pissed off was probably on the poor bastard's ass.

Frankly, Sam looked sick. Melissa audibly sighed. It was just what they needed now.

"Hey, you okay, Sam?" she said worriedly, reaching to feel his forehead. "You look feverish."

Sam swatted her hand away quickly. "I'm fine."

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking to Dean for support but finding he was still giving both of them the cold shoulder. Though she thought she saw a concerned flick of his eye, she wasn't going to push it.

"Whatever you say, Sammy," she said, leaning back, pushing her hair from her face.

Sam sighed angrily but said nothing more. She knew he would feel her eyes on him. She didn't care. Thinking back to all the shady shit she had seen from him in the past almost year, she made up her mind. She was not going to take her eyes off him. There was one thing his behavior was reminding her of: withdrawal.

. . .

Sideways. Things had gone sideways, and then they'd straightened out, and then they'd gone sideways again. Jimmy's home was just as quaint as Melissa expected, but it was chocked full of demons when she and the boys showed up. It had taken a little wrestling, but eventually, all the demons inside were dead. Jimmy's wife and daughter were alive, and they still had time to get away from the man-turned-vessel before his prescense killed them. Civilians weren't meant for angel play.

The wife and the daughter were off in a hotwired car, and Jimmy slept glumly in the back of the Impala next to Sam as Dean sped down a nameless road on their way to Bobby's. There, they could figure out exactly what the hell do to with Castiel's vessel. Rain pattered down on the car's metal roof, and Melissa could taste the blood as she bit at her lips nervously. There was only one demon knife, which Dean had wielded while fighting off the demons that had possessed Jimmy's former friends and neighbors. Melissa, with her demon specialty, had gotten by with her fists and her Latin. Sam had tried to use his mojo. He'd tried his hardest, and eventually it worked, but had gone almost completely white in the face in the process. Melissa had almost thought his eyes were going to roll back in his head.

"What the hell happened back there?" Melissa finally snapped, her nails forming divets in her palms as she clenched her fists. She was tired of having this goddam fight over and over again, but it needed to be done.

"What?" Sam asked tiredly when he saw she was turned around to face him with violent look.

"You practically fainted trying to put down that demon!"

Suddenly, Dean put a gentle hand on her arm. She looked over with her wild, stormy eyes and Dean shook his head at her. It wasn't the time. She clicked her tongue and gave him an angry glare, but said nothing as she stared ahead again into the rain, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Okay, I didn't faint. I just got a little dizzy," Sam continued depsite his better judgement.

Melissa sighed furiously through her nose and tried to calm her shaking nerves. "The point is," she began more calmly, though hot patches still rose on her cheeks, "once upon a time you were strong enough to gank Alastair. Now you can't kill stunt-demon number three?"

Sam met her with only silence. His arms were crossed and he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm not trying to pick a fight, alright? Just...you're scarin' me, Sam," she admitted, her voice jagged.

"I'm scaring myself," Sam replied.

Melissa chewed on her lip more and decided to table the argument for later, feeling her heart flutter anxiously. After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, the ring of Sam's cellphone split through the air. Sam muttered a few words Melissa wasn't paying attention to before he turned to the side and shook Jimmy by the shoulder.

"It's your wife," Sam told him.

"Amelia?" Melissa heard Jimmy ask groggily before he straightened up in his seat nervously. "Oh my god."

. . .

Melissa followed Sam and Dean swiftly through the rickety catwalks of the warehouse. Her jaw was tense but she was comforted by the weight of the revolved in the waistband of her jeans. It couldn't kill a demon, but it could sure as hell slow one down. Dean had the demon knife, and Sam of course had whatever was left of his mojo. As far as they knew, they were taking on one demon. The one that had possessed Jimmy's wife. Because they needed Jimmy's knowledge, and the most effective way to get it was through his family. His pressure point was about as easy to find as Sam and Dean's.

The plan was essentially to use Jimmy as bait, which no one was particularly comfortable with, but it was the best way to rip off the bandaid. According to the phone call Jimmy had received, Amelia had Jimmy's daugter Claire tied up and knocked out. And there was a knife just itching to slice her up. She was nine years old. She'd lost a father and now she'd lost a mother. Jimmy would go in first, and offer himself up, and then the three hunters would do the dirty work.

But, of course, these days their plans weren't exactly up to snuff. Melissa nearly jumped out of her skin as a hand was clamped over her mouth from behind and two other demons emreged from the shadows of the catwalk and captured Sam and Dean. Melissa practically rolled her eyes, feeling almost as though she had expected this. She didn't bother looking up to face whatever black-eyed bitch had her by the shoulders. The hand was removed from her mouth as they began to descend the catwalk back into the littered room where they had first found Jimmy.

"Get your fucking hands off me," she growled, "I can walk myself."

She felt the rumble of a sickly laugh in the chest of her assailant. "Nice try."

She sighed, hoping she could simply intimidate the demon enough to break free. There weren't many other options. But somehow she needed to grab the gun unnoticed. Though by the time they were in view of Jimmy, his wife, and his daughter, she still hadn't managed to make it happen.

"Like I didn't think you'd bring the three musketeers," the demon said in Amelia's voice. Melissa could practically see Jimmy's skin crawling as he watched his wife being invaded. And for a moment, all she could feel was sympathy. Sure, she still wasn't pleased that he'd practically led those demons to his family, but she could understand. She'd watched herself kill a man while possessed, and she'd had to watch Dean watch her go through it. And she was reminded of why demons were her specialty.

"Nice plan, Dean," Sam said mockingly as the demons stopped them, all standing in a line before Amelia, Jimmy, and the unconcious Claire.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged. "No one bats a thousand."

Melissa scoffed bitterly. "I'll say."

"Got the knife?" Amelia asked, her eyebrows raised. The demon behind Dean held it up with a smile. Melissa sighed. She hadn't even noticed they'd taken it. Maybe she was getting rusty from all the apocalypse stress.

"You know what's funny?" Amelia asked wickedly.

"You wearing a soccer mom?" Dean quipped, squirming in the demon's grasp.

"I was actually bummed to get this detail, picking up an empty vessel," the demon within Jimmy's wife continued as though nothing had happened. "But look what just got dropped into my lap."

"Well, now you have us," Sam bit out. "So let them go."

"Sam, Sam, Sam…" the demon drawled. "Why try to be chivalrous when your Wonder Girl powers aren't working, huh? Now for the punch line. Everybody dies."

Things happened quickly after that, Amelia raised a gun and shot Jimmy in the gut before barking out the order for the demon holding Sam to waste Claire. Melissa felt a rush of anger as she watched the demon move towards the little girl, seeing Rosie in Claire's young features. She elbowed the demon behind her in the stomach as hard as she could, creating enough time to grab her gun from her jeans and shoot the demon, who had just begun picking up a lead pipe that looked like it could do some damage, in the shoulder.

Unfortunately, the creature barely flinched. And she had fired up the demon behind her so much that he threw her against the scrap metal shelf near them, and she lost sight of the little girl as her gun flew out of her hand and she landed on her side. The wind was knocked out of her, and she thought she could feel some blood beginning to drip down her forehead, but she was too focused on saving Claire to wallow in pain. She was trying to recover, but stumbled a little as she got back on her feet. Finally finding the little girl again in the scuffle, she saw Claire exorcising one of the demons. Her eyes were of a bright white light and Melissa couldn't tell exactly where she should focus her energy. It looked like Claire (or whatever was inside her) no longer needed saving, and Amelia was nowhere to be found.

"Castiel," Melissa heard Jimmy sputter through the blood that had begun to drip out of his mouth as he watched his daughter. Melissa's eyes widened.

Sam had managed to get the demon knife back and was taking care of one of them, but the demon that had thrown Melissa was pummeling Dean mercilessly. Her rage flared more and she ended up going towards them when only her fists to retaliate, but before she could thrown the possessed man off of Dean, Casitel, still in Claire's body, approached and placed a hand on its forehead. And with one touch the bitch was sent back to hell.

"Dean!" Melissa cried out hoarsely, going over and helping him up, quickly assessing his cuts and bruises, and from his shallow breathing she suspected a broken rib or two.

"You're bleeding," he breathed frantically.

"Ditto," she said, then turning her dangerous eyes back to the action.

Immediately, they zeroed in on Sam. Melissa had suspected he would've been able to waste the demon by now, but instead, he hovered over her, the knife clenched in his left hand. Melissa didn't understand it until he seemed finished with the hell-bitch and turned around. His mouth was covered with dark blood, dripping down his chin and oozing brightly on his pallid face. Her breath caught in her throat, and all at once she understood. Her stomach sank, but there was no time to lose as Amelia came back into the picture, and Jimmy still lie bleeding out on the dirty floor of the warehouse. And then there was the problem of the child angel. Melissa still didn't know what to focus on.

But before anyone else could make a move, Sam stood from the demon he had bled dry, raised his hand, and killed the demon within Jimmy's wife. She screamed as a burning, yellowish light streamed from her. Dean rushed over to catch her as she fell backward, finally back in control of her body again. Melissa went straight for Sam, and Castiel knelt down towards Jimmy. Melissa couldn't stop the memory of Pamela's death from creeping into her mind as Jimmy lay there, the red stain slowly growing on his stomach beneath his hand.

For a moment, Melissa took Sam by the shoulders and just stared at him. He had yet to wipe the blood from his lips, but his eyes were electric and dark. They made her shudder. His look was guilty and he didn't say a word, but his eyes only spoke of hunger and power. She had to turn away.

"As you wish," she heard Castiel speak through Claire as she turned back around, and watched Castiel transfer from the little girl into a dying Jimmy. Claire slumped to her knees and a recently awakened Amelia ran to her, as the trench-coated angel sulked back to the hunters, in fighting form once again.

"Cas…" Dean said helplessly. "What were you gonna ask me?" Nothing about this entire event had made any sense. Why had Castiel been fighting the angels? Why was whatever he had to say been so dangerous it couldn't even be uttered inside Dean's head? But one look at Castiel's calculating eyes told Melissa they weren't getting any answers tonight.

"I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean," Castiel soke coldly, similar to the way he had upon first meeting them nearly a year ago. "I serve heaven. I don't serve man. And I definitely don't serve you."

And the angel brushed past them, back to the machine he had been created to be.

. . .

The storm followed them as they drove back to the motel. Melissa bit her nails as she sat in the back, wishing she could doze and knowing she couldn't at a time like this. Dean had opted for no music, and no one said a word. When Sam had tried to explain himself to Dean (he wasn't even going to try with Melissa, he knew nothing good would come of it) his brother had only told him he was disappointed. He wasn't angry. He was just done. Melissa had managed to pull Dean aside while they were getting rid of the bodies, and decided it would be best to bring Bobby in for help. She'd called him straight away. And any minute, Sam would receive a fake phone call, urging the three to come to South Dakota. And then Sam would spend the forseeable future in the panic room to detox.

After seeing Jimmy suffer the way Pamela had, and finally understanding why Sam had been acting like a junkie for the better part of the past year, she was starting to think this whole looking back into the past thing wasn't such a gret idea after all. Maybe she didn't need to be any part of herself from before. She could practically feel the ache in her bones from withdrawal as she remembered those last few months with Allen. Not being able to keep food down, delirious with fever. And Sam was in for it all. No doubt it would be about a million times worse considering all the demon shit that went with it.

If she hadn't been so fucking pissed she would have pitied him.

 **Author's Note:** Boy, it has been awhile. Sometimes you just need a break to focus on other things. But I'm so motivated to get through season 5. Something big is coming. ;) Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy what happens next!

Thank you so much to _**Purplestan**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews! I'll try to post more regularly for you! I'm think I'll shoot for once a week again.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for reading!

Peace and love.


	55. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Sure Got Cold After The Rain Fell"** by ZZ Top

\- " **Crystal"** by Stevie Nicks

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

Whiskey was Bobby's solution to everything. He poured them three glasses as they listened to Sam's muffled shouts from the panic room below them. Dean paced around the room nervously, radiating stress, as Melissa sat silently on the couch picking at her bare nails. Dean sipped at his whiskey quickly as Bobby handed it to him, but Melissa only stared, practically lifeless.

"How long is this gonna last?" Dean asked in exasperation.

Bobby sat down with a heavy sigh. "Here, let me look it up in my demon-detox manual. Oh wait, no one ever wrote one," he sassed Dean. "No telling how long it'll take. Hell, or if Sam will even live through this."

Melissa swallowed down some of the alcohol and felt it burn in her stomach. She listened to Sam, hearing him this time not even say any words but let out a guttural scream. She shut her eyes, hearing echoes of old things running through her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek and set the tumbler down on the coffee table in front of her. Wiping her sweaty, shaky hands on her jeans, she went over to Dean, putting a hand on his chest to stop the pacing.

"I'm gonna go talk to him," she told him, giving him a chaste kiss on his flushed cheek.

"What? Let me come with," he said, following after her as she turned around.

"Not a chance in hell," she snapped, facing him once more. She put her hands on her hips and sighed, seeing the deep lines of worry set in his forehead. "Sorry, just...you don't know how this feels."

"Right, because you know how it feels to sip on demon juice," he scoffed. Her eyes darkened.

"Yes," she told him sharply. "I do."

She began to storm off, but he sighed and grabbed her by the wrist, spinning her back around. "Missy, wait, I'm s-"

"No," she growled at him, forcing her wrist out of his grasp and stomping her way down to the basement.

Dean sighed heavier, running a hand down his face. He looked to Bobby helplessly, who only shrugged in response.

. . .

The stairs down to the basement creaked warmly as Melissa descended them. Though she knew they had to be there, being at Bobby's only made her more lost in her own memories. Her skin was crawling and her stomach was in knots. To be honest, she knew what cold turkey could do to a person, and now was not the time for them to be down a team member. But it couldn't be helped. She knew the addiction was turning his blood dark. And occasionally his eyes. She tried to ignore the screaming and the thrashing around that came from the panic room as she approached the door, unlokcing the hatch to see him.

She had to bite her lip and fight the mistiness in her eyes. "Sam…" she said.

His bloodshot eyes widened and he ran up to the hatch, his skin both feverish and pale. "Melissa! Thank god! Alastair was down here! You gotta get me out! Talk to Dean!"

She shook her head. "Sam...I don't…"

"No, no, no! Please!" he began, but she cut him off.

"No, Sam!" she yelled. "Just listen for a fucking second."

He swallowed with a cringe, as though he had a sore throat, but said nothing and gave her a small nod.

"I came down here…" she stopped for a moment, looking down at her falling-apart boots. "To apologize...to you."

"What?"

She blew out a long breath and turned around, her cheeks heating up in shame. Sliding her back down the iron door, she tried her best to find her words. She let out a sigh as she came to sit on the cool cement floor.

"I gave you so much crap...you shoulda just told me," she told him, resting her forehead in her palm tiredly. "Of all people, Sam...I'm on your side."

She heard Sam scoff bitterly.

"No, you shut up until I'm finished or I'll come in there and kill you myself," she bit out. She paused for a moment, feeling at the base of her collarbone for a necklace that she hadn't worn in ten years.

Her eyes were shiny when she spoke again. "This thing that you're feeling...the hot-cold on your skin, the pounding in your head….the way every cell and bone in your body is screaming for what you think you need...you're never gonna forget it. At least, I never have."

She swallowed thickly, looking ahead into the dingy, lifeless room around her. "I just wish-"

Her voice broke for a moment and Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd sat on the other side of the door, mirroring her position. He almost didn't remember the last time he'd heard her cry, but then it dawned on him. Echoes of her screams the night Dean had been dragged to hell ran through his head for only a moment before the guilt set in. That was the night he'd hit her, the night he'd first betrayed her. And he'd kept on that train ever since.

Her words came out shaky and forced. "I wish I could've helped you, Sammy. I wish you would've told me."

"I'm sorry, but I did it for us," he said quietly, his angry words coming out slightly slurred in his fevered state.

"No," she said. "You're not sorry. Not right now, at least. Right now, all you want is more. Maybe apologize to me again once it's worth a damn."

"Melissa," he began, but she stopped him.

"You can't lie to me, Sam, remember? I've been where you are. It wasn't exactly demon blood, but there were times when it felt like it. So do me a favor and stop pretending," she scolded him with heavy breathing as she came to stand again.

"So, I'm sorry I couldn't help you sooner...I'm sorry you became a victim...I'm sorry the thing you thought would make you strong made you weak…" she told him, her voice filled only with sincerity and comtempt.

Sam's eyes widened as he heard her go back up the stairs, his vision blurring slightly as he rose and put his face close to the hatch.

"Mel! Wait!"

She stopped, her hand on the old, splintered railing of the basement steps. Sighing, she turned around. Sam's eyes were bright, darting all around even though she knew he was trying his best to focus on her. She could act like she knew exactly what was going to happen to him, but deep down all she had were questions. Every time she looked at him, she saw Dean's body, shredded to ribbons the night the hellhounds got him, and she wondered if the younger Winchester brother was next. This time not by hellfire, but by demon blood.

Boots tapping on the concrete floor, she strolled back over to him sadly.

"I almost forgot," she said coolly before she shut the hatch with a loud _snap_. He screamed and begged, but all she could do was shut him out of her mind. Her heart was heavy as she walked away from him for real.

. . .

"So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you just willingly signed up to be the angels' bitch?" Bobby snapped at Dean, who stood silently with his arms crossed shamefully over his broad chest.

After getting no response, Bobby only looked angrier. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you prefer 'sucker'? All you said about them, and you just go and pledge allegiance?"

Melissa rolled her eyes and ran a hand down her face. Of course, Dean had gone and prayed to Castiel. He couldn't just come and hash it out with Melissa and Bobby. She was getting a little fed up with all the angel business. He'd given himself over to the angels, to the will of God, and promised he would do their bidding to stop the apocalypse. Castiel had told Dean it was the only way to get Sam out of this mess. All while Melissa and Bobby had been pouring over the books.

On top of that, Rufus had given Bobby a call. Seals were breaking left and right, and it seemed like Lillith was closing in. Like she could smell that Sam was in crisis, like she could smell Sam's body breaking down before them.

"Come on, Bobby, gimme a little credit, alright," Dean tried to explain himself. "I've never trusted 'em less. They're like shady politicians from the planet Vulcan."

Melissa clicked her tongue ruefully, spinning her tumbler around on the worn wood of the desk that she sat behind. Dean cast her an exasperated glance but didn't take her bait.

"Then why the hell did you-" Bobby began.

"Because what other option do I have? I either trust the angels or let Sammy trust a demon?" Dean cut in loudly, taking a few frustrated steps towards Bobby.

"Or, you trust _us_ ," Melissa spat, standing up and cracking her knuckles.

"Missy, compared to all that's out there...there hardly is an _us_ ," he argued. He looked like he was about to continue when he perked his head up and raised his eyebrows. "You hear that?"

They listened and Bobby's face fell in realization. "That's a whole lotta nothin.'"

All three ran down the rickety steps once more, stopping at the door to the panic room, which Bobby quickly unlocked. They found Sam writhing around on the floor, convulsing with his eyes rolled back into his head. Melissa rushed forwards, but Dean took her by the elbow before she could make it to him.

"You think he could be fakin'?" he asked.

"Hell no," Melissa replied, running over to him. Just before she reached him, some invisible thing flung Sam across the room, his back hitting hard against the salted iron wall. Melissa could practically hear the wind being knocked out of him.

"That ain't fakin'!" Bobby exclaimed, and the two men joined Melissa in pinning Sam down onto the cot. Melissa thought she saw him beginning to foam at the mouth, and gave Bobby a pleading look. Sometimes, when everything went to hell, she still felt like she was 18, looking to Bobby for an answer.

"We're gonna tie 'im down for his own safety," the older hunter announced. Melissa nodded, though Dean looked like he was out in space. "Dean! You hearin' me?!"

After a moment, he came to. "Yeah...yeah. Let's just get it overwith."

. . .

Summer was warming over again, and now it only reminded Melissa of hellhounds. Of prostituting herself and feeling lower than she ever had. She could feel the warm breeze hit the back of her neck and give her goosebumps as she leaned on the windowsill. She had a headache behind her eyes, she figured from the constant screaming below.

"I'm sorry, I can't bite my tongue any longer," she heard Bobby blurt out as he argued with Dean. She'd been pulled down into her memories for a moment, but she knew the fight was over Sam. "We're killing him, keeping him locked down there. This cold turkey thing isn't working. If he doesn't get what he needs, and soon, Sam's not gonna last much longer."

"No, I'm _not_ giving 'im demon blood," Dean yelled. "I'm not doing it!"

"What happens when he dies, then, Dean?" Melissa countered, finally speaking up. She could see Sam withering.

"Then at least he dies human!"

Shaking her head, she stormed towards the front door, her headache getting worse by the second.

"Where the hell are you goin'?" Bobby yelled from behind her.

She turned back around with her angry flush turning her cheeks scarlet. "I need some air, alright? Maybe I'll call some of my contacts, see if we got a lead on Lillith around those breakin' seals. I would call Pamela for some help, but oh wait, that's right, we already killed her!"

Dean blew out a sigh and looked like he was going to try to reason with her. But she whirled back around and slammed the front door before anyone could say another word.

. . .

"Yeah, thanks Marv...No, it's alright, just...watch yourself. Bye," she spoke shortly over the phone and closed it harshly, afraid for a moment she had broken it in half. When she saw it was in one piece, she tossed it to the passenger seat. She gripped the old steering wheel of the truck hard, biting her bottom lip until she could taste the blood. Blowing out a long, weary breath, she searched around for something, anything.

Finally, she settled on a dirty flannel on the floor of the passenger side, lying there since she didn't know when. She bit into it and screamed, feeling no other instinct. She felt like she couldn't breathe, like she was watching the world collapse. The apocalypse beginning, Sam fading away, and Dean becoming a henchman for the angels. And she was watching it from the sidelines. No hunter she knew had any leads on Lillith. She would've gone and killed the bitch herself, just snuck out and put an end to it herself, if she'd gotten the jump. But now she just sat, watching the May afternoon turn to evening. She wanted a cigarette. She wanted to ride down some country road in the Impala, with Dean's hand on her knee and Sam snoring in the back seat. She wanted the light Dean'd had in his eyes before hell to return. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to see Pamela again. She wanted everything she could probably never have again. Well, except for the cigarettes.

She knew she was acting like a child, but she couldn't stay there and listen to Sam scream, watch them actively kill him with this cold turkey method. Watch Dean stand helpless in the corner of the room nursing a whiskey. It was breaking her heart. She took a few deep breaths and leaned back, tossing the flannel aside, looking up to the roof. There, she saw a faded cigarette burn, and felt herself go back to the night it got there.

. . .

 _She sat in the gravel driveway, staring towards the cozy-looking house in the light of the moon. There was a gentle breeze, and she shivered a little in the October nighttime. She'd been lost in her thoughts, and only noticed the smell of burning a few moments after the gray fabric of the truck's roof started sizzling under the tip of her cigarette. She laughed at herself, a lively, bubbly sound that poured from her mouth without a thought as she tossed the cancer stick out the window. Clumsily, she nearly fell out of the truck's driver's side. She brought her bag with her, filled with the few things she needed to stay alive (including the revolver she'd gotten at a pawn shop three years back), but forgot to shut the door on her way to the front stoop. She stopped to toss her cookies in the bushes on the way up. Still wiping at her mouth, she knocked on the familiar door loudly._

" _Paaaamelaaa," she sang, leaning on one of the tables near the door for support. She got distracted for a moment as she gazed at a particularly stunning fern that sat atop the table, reminding her of her mother's garden all those years ago. The way she brought the plants in during the winter to keep them from freezing._

 _After a moment of silence, her goal cleared in her mind again and she knocked on the door. "Pamela Baaarnes, get your ass out here!"_

 _She listened to the crickets sing warmly around her before the door finally opened, revealing her psychic friend dressed in a black, satin robe. She looked pissed, but Melissa was too drunk to notice._

" _Melissa Lowry, what the hell are you doing here?" the psychic asked her begrudgingly._

 _Melissa laughed sloopily. "Just wanted to pay my favorite psychic a visit!"_

 _Pamela sized the young girl up. She had just turned 20, but her eyes were much older. There was vomit on the collar of her sweater, and her jeans had bloody holes in the knees. A flash of recognition went through her clarvoiyant mind and her face softened. She let out a heavy sigh._

" _Alright, girl interrupted," Pamela said wearily, putting an arm around Melissa's shoulders, bringing her into the humble abode. She managed to get Melissa to flop down onto the couch. Pamela pulled a throw over the girl, who watched her with starry, sad eyes._

 _Grabbing a bucket and a glass of water, Pamela came over, her hands on her thighs as she finally came to sit on the coffee table._

" _What happened?" she asked simply._

" _There was a little girl...I didn't get there in time," Melissa admitted, her voice steady but her eyes searching the room for anything but Pamela's face. She blushed in shame._

 _Pamela sighed through her nose and nodded, standing up once more, having already seen what Melissa had gone through that day. "Well, if you need anythin,' just holler."_

. . .

Breathing in and out, Melissa tried to quiet her erratic heart. She jumped as the door to the passenger seat opened, and she almost panicked that she hadn't brought her gun, but she looked over only to see the downtrodden Dean.

She sighed heavily. "Jesus."

"Not quite," he joked with a flat voice.

Running a hand through her hair, she swallowed thickly. The sky was a dark blue now, and she wondered how long she'd been out there. Maybe she'd even dozed off. She couldn't tell. Rubbing her eyes, she cleared her throat and sighed.

"I'm sorry I ran off, Dean," she told him, bringing her hands to grip the steering wheel tightly once more.

"Do you remember when Alastair beat the hell outta me and I had to spend the night in the hospital?" Dean asked.

She furrowed her brows and looked over at him in confusion. "Um...yeah."

"And you told me we would stop it...we would stop it no matter what," he said, taking her hand.

"But Sam-"

"Sam's in the panic room. Where he needs to be. And _we_?" he told her, gesturing between the two of them. "We will stop it. You and me and Bobby."

She sighed. "Dean, he's-"

"I know this is hard for you."

"It's not about me," she said, her voice tinged with anger.

"I know you feel it every time you look at him, hell, I bet you feel it even talkin' about him now," he continued, not letting go of her hand though she wasn't holding his, only looking out the window across the darkness of Singer Auto.

"And I know you don't want him to have to feel it too, but he did this to himself. And I cannot let him drink anymore of that...that poison. _That_ is my line."

"Right because _I'm Dean Winchester and I know what's best for everyone_ ," she mocked him bitterly, still not meeting his eyes. She knew where the road was leading, and she also knew that Dean was probably right, but it was a damn hard pill to swallow.

"Sweetheart, I love you, but you are absolute ass at impressions," he said, though his tone was hardly light as he let go of her hand. She looked back at him, her eyes shiny with hot, stinging tears. She tried to stomp out of the truck, but he stopped her with a hand on her thigh, his voice somewhere between pleading and stern. "And I _need_ you to be on board, alright? Because I am _right about to jump off a cliff, Missy, and if you can't pull yourself together, so help me God, I don't think I can do it_ -"

She pulled away before he could finish, slamming the door so fast and so hard he didn't even have a chance to react. He followed her without a word as she made her way back into the house. She'd gotten quite the head start and he'd lost sight of her by the time he got to the front door. Back in the study, he found her and Bobby with their noses in lore books, and Sam still screamed endlessly from the basement.

"Melissa…" he began, noticing the only sign she hadn't been sitting there for hours was her rapid breathing.

"You're right, Dean. This ain't the time for distractions," she said earnestly, not lifting her head to meet his eyes.

Bobby gave him a questioning look, since it seemed Melissa wasn't talking, but Dean only gave him a shrug. For a moment he just gaped at her more, unsure of what would diffuse the situation.

"Just sit your ass down and do some research, alright? Now all we gotta do is wait for Lillith or wait for the angels, ain't it?" she snapped, her eyes fiery from behind her reading glasses. He sighed, but complied, his mind mixed up in a million ways.

. . .

With Bobby pacing on the porch, getting more reports about breaking seals from his other hunters, Dean and Melissa were alone for the first time in hours. It was a little past eleven and Melissa sighed tiredly as she took off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose, the burning ache behind her eyes ever-present. Dean sat in an armchair across from the couch, and he watched her shoulders slump in her fatigue as the night turned from blue to black.

"I hate it when you call me sweetheart," she said suddenly, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the old sofa.

"What?" he asked, knowing now that she'd seen him staring.

"You always call me that when you're tellin' me somethin' I don't wanna hear," she explained through a yawn, finally looking back at him as she brought her elbows to her knees.

"Oh," he answered dumbly, flushing slightly. "Sorry."

"No, I just mean, I'm sorry I got pissed. I'm just mad that...I couldn't help him sooner, I guess. And that I can still feel how it felt...all the time," she said, her voice a million miles away.

"It's okay, I'm sorry too," he sighed, coming to sit next to her, his arm around her shoulders as she leaned her head on his chest. "I didn't mean to take it out on you like that. I'm just...hangin' by a thread here."

"Aren't we always?" she laughed bitterly. She felt her eyes getting heavy as his breathing begin to slow. "Just...it was my job to protect Rosie...and I couldn't do it. Dean, it's not about Sam not feeling what I feel...it's about you not feeling what I feel."

He sighed and slowly, very slowly, laid them both down, comfortbale even though they still wore their boots and jeans with holes in the knees. "Baby, no matter how hard you try, I'll still feel like that all the time. And giving him more? You and I both know that be would be worse than just lettin' 'im…"

"Yeah, I know," she slurred airily as she began to doze off.

"You don't need to worry about me…" Dean continued, passing out as she had after a damn long day. And when Bobby returned, he found them together, resting but never at true rest.

. . .

"Melissa! Wake the hell up!" she heard Dean shout gruffly, pulling her out of a dreamless sleep. She shot up, feeling around her for a pistol. She saw Dean and Bobby's panicked faces before her in the early morning darkness.

"What's the matter?"

Bobby's jaw tensed. "Sam's out."

 **Author's Note:** Alright, we're just about to get onto season 5...get excited! That's my favorite season! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. More soon! Thank you so much for reading!

Special thanks to _**Purplestan**_ and _**bjq**_ for your reviews! Thank you so much for sticking with me and I hope you liked this chapter! Feedback is basically my favorite thing, if you didn't know ;)

PLEASE review down below and let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	56. Chapter Twenty-Three: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 **\- "Bad Moon Rising"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

 **\- "God's Gonna Cut You Down"** by Johnny Cash

 **Chapter Twenty-Three** **:** Part One

Flicking her zippo lighter around anxiously, a trick she'd learned at a young age, Melissa kept her jaw tight, attempting to pacify her anger a little. Or her guilt. She should have seen it coming. They all should have. According to Cas, Dean had told her, the amount of blood Sam needed to kill Lillith would change him beyond saving. Change him into something that wasn't human. And it had taken all of about two hours for Dean to find his little brother, not that anyone was surprised. But Dean didn't return with Sam. All he had with him were a few cuts and bruises littering his face, and several on his ribs. Instead of apologizing, begging on his knees like he should've, Sam had just beat the hell outta Dean and left him alone in a hotel room three hours from Bobby's. It left a bitter taste in Melissa's mouth; she knew what it was like to have Sam Winchester leave you high and dry. And Dean said he'd left with Ruby in tow.

She leaned back against the desk, watching as Dean and Bobby shouted at each other.

"I know you're pissed," Bobby said, visibly struggling to keep his cool. "I'm not making apologies for what he's done, but he's your b-"

"Blood? He's my blood. Is that what you were gonna say?" Dean asked angrily.

"He's your brother. And he's drowning," Bobby replied, his face drawn in exhaustion.

"Bobby, I tried to help him. I did. And look what happened!"

"Then try again, Dean!" Melissa countered, slipping her lighter in her back pocket and advancing towards the two of them, her hands digging into her hips as she fumed. "It might take a million tries to get 'im to hear you, but you only have a hundred percent chance of losing him if you give up right now!"

He ran a hand down his face and sighed. "You're not hearing me! It's too late!"

"Ain't no such thing!" she yelled back.

"No, dammit!" he snapped, his face reddening. He was surprised when she didn't take a step back. Outbursts like that usually made Melissa jump. "I gotta face the facts. Sam never wanted to be a part of this family. He hated this life growin' up. Ran away to Stanford the first chance he got. Now it's happening all over again."

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her heart beating against her ribs in her frustration. Now was not the time for Dean to bring up the past. Today should only be about the present.

"I'm sick and tired of chasin' 'im. Screw him, he can do what he wants."

Cracking her knuckles, Melissa blew out an angry breath. She was tempted to walk out the front door and seek a solution for herself, but she just stood there, her boots firmly planted on the creaky wood floor. She wouldn't let the situation intimidate her any longer.

"That sure is the right attitude," she mocked Dean coldly. She kept her gaze but he looked away as Bobby spoke again.

"You don't mean a word you're sayin,' boy," the older hunter scolded his surrogate son.

"Yes I do, Bobby," Dean said gravely. "Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still me brother anymore. If he ever was."

Slowly and stoically, Bobby walked toward his old desk. Then all of a sudden, he went ballistic, letting out a strained grunt and pushing all of the papers and lore books to the ground in a fit of rage. He turned back to Dean with his face set like stone, getting right in the younger hunter's face.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" Bobby screamed as Melissa and Dean's eyes both widened. "Well, boo hoo, I'm sorry if your feelin's are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression family's supposed to make you feel good? Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!"

Dean bit the insides of his cheeks for a moment and sounded much calmer as he answered. "I told him before he left, Bobby. I told him, 'you walk out that door, don't come back.' And he walked out that door!"

"You sound like a whiny brat," Bobby continued his rant. "No, you sound like your dad. And let me tell you something, your dad was a coward."

Melissa took a step back from the two of them, feeling as if they had gone into uncharted territory. She stood behind Dean, but could tell by the tone of his voice that his eyes had darkened dangerously at the criticism of his father's character.

"My dad was a lot of things, Bobby. But a coward?"

"He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him," Bobby kept his voice and his eyes balanced. "Well, that don't strike me as brave. You're a better man than your daddy ever was. So, do us all a favor. Don't be him."

Dean didn't reply. Instead, he turned around, running a hand down Melissa's arm as he walked past her but not saying a word. He stood before the window, looking out over the South Dakota afternoon with a brooding expression. There was a pensive silence and Melissa rubbed at her eyes, having slept little over the past couple days. But when she looked up, Dean was gone. Vanished from the room.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, spinning around to look for him even though she knew he wouldn't be there.

"Where the hell is he?" Bobby echoed her frantic tone.

She blew out a breath, squeezing her eyes shut and bringing a hand to a forehead, trying her best to think. The air in the room wasn't particularly stuffy, but she felt like she was suffocating.

"Okay...okay…" she thought aloud, stuttering as she continued. "H-he was waiting. For Lillith o-or for the angels. And Lillith sure as hell ain't here."

Popping her eyes back open, she looked to Bobby for agreement.

He shrugged. "But...why would they just up an' take 'im."

She gave him a calculating look and then made for the door. "So 'his work can begin.' I'll call you if- _when_ I find 'im."

. . .

"Dammit, Castiel! Show yourself to me or I swear, the next time I see you, I'll blow you the hell up!" she shouted, her hands shaking as she slammed herself inside her truck, which stood beside the Impala out in the yard. The day was sultry and it almost reminded her of a Georgia summer. She tugged nervously at the sleeves of her flannel and waited, biting her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood.

"Hello, Melissa," she heard suddenly, along with the slight flap of wings.

"Where is he?" she asked bluntly, looking over to the passenger seat after getting over her initial moment of surprise.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Castiel," she growled.

He sighed, looking ahead blankly before turning back to her. "He's doing God's work."

"My ass. No one's seen God since the first angels," she shot back.

She thought she saw some flash of emotion in his blue eyes, something near human, but it faded as soon as it arrived. "Melissa...why do you think tragedy follows you?"

She furrowed her brows at him angrily, her stomach churning with anxiety. "Because I have bad fucking luck, now where the hell's Dean?"

"Why do you think you're so susceptible to my powers?"

"Why do you think askin' these questions is gonna save you from gettin' blown up?!"

"Why do you always rely on wrath?"

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, she relented, too tired to keep going along on the wheel. "Fine. I'll bite. Why does the angel mojo knock me out the way it does?"

"Because you're touched."

She sighed. "What?"

"Do you remember Miss Grayson?" he asked slowly.

Images of her kindly ballet teacher from long ago floated through her mind. The long, curly blonde hair always fastened in a bun. The warm, lively smile. "Yes."

"Her real name was Julia. She was stationed on Earth. For you," he told her solemnly.

She eyes searched his face for answers, and her flushed skin broke out into a sweat, making the loose strands from her messy ponytail cling to her cheeks. "Where's Dean?" she repeated shakily, hoping to get past whatever he was hinting it. It was making her insides squirm. She had to fight the mistiness in her eyes.

"Melissa, it was always meant to be you," he continued, ignoring her questions.

"Always meant to be _what_?!" she raised her voice, gripping the steering wheel for some sort of odd support to the point her knuckles were white.

"With Dean. You're playing your part just as he's playing his. You're a woman of faith, and even if you've strayed, we're confident you will still push him in the right direction," he kept going, though being just cryptic enough to get right the hell under Melissa's skin.

"Just get to the damn point, angel-boy!" she shouted. He sighed again.

"You were touched. You were protected, so that you would always be led to Dean. Of course, it wasn't manufactured love like John and Mary Winchester, you were soulmates from birth, but it was just a matter of getting you two to meet," he explained, his face stony and his eyes still.

"Wait, slow down, what do you mean 'protected'? Miss Grayson was an angel?" she said, putting a hand up to stop him.

"Yes, she...put a hand on your soul, so to speak. Think of it like a bubble, meant to protect you...to keep you on your path. And though you proved to be a very difficult case, my understanding is that once the plan was set in motion, the orders couldn't be compromised," he spoke clinically still, and Melissa swallowed dryly. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around what she was hearing.

"I'm a difficult case?"

"Yes, very much so. Everything that was thrown at you to drive you to hunt...you continued restoring some semblance of a normal life. You even lost your faith, though we know it remains in you. Even after you and Dean consummated your relationship you strayed from the path for a period."

"Yes, I remember," she interjected. "So, you're telling me... _every_ shitty thing that's happened to me has been because of you dicks?"

Castiel sighed, wishing he could make her see the way it needed to be. "Only because we knew you will be the one to urge him along. You will be the one who helps him restore peace on Earth. You will save him just as you saved him the first day you met him."

She didn't say a word for a moment, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and fury. She reached a trembling hand into the duffel that sat between them on the front seat, rummaging through it calmly before pulling out a long red stick of dynamite. Then, she took the lighter from her back pocket, holding them up in his clear view.

"Now, I don't know much, but I know that even if you are an angel, you're ain't gonna be around too long without a vessel. I also know that if you don't tell me where the hell Dean is within the next ten seconds, we're both toast," she threatened coolly.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Castiel said quickly before vanishing.

Melissa blew out a breath she didn't know she had been holding in and swallowed thickly, letting her hands, still full with the lighter and the dynamite, fall limply at her sides. She couldn't help the way her breaths began to hitch and the heavy, hot tears that streamed down her cheeks as the daylight slowly began to wane. And she had thought Dean was the angels' bitch.

. . .

Night had long since fallen, and Bobby poured them both some whiskey to calm the nerves. After her little meltdown in the car, Melissa had been forced to trudge back into the house empty-handed, having traveled only a around a hundred feet from the house. So they did the only thing left to do: research on omens and the apocalypse. Melissa didn't get far, Castiel's words playing over and over in her mind like a broken record. ( _Melissa, it was always meant to be you._ )

Could it really be? Could her whole goddam life been some play by the angels? It made her feel sick. All the words she attempted to read didn't get past her eyes. She found nothing online or in the books. Eventually she fell asleep, her tumbler still half-full and her glasses still on. Bobby thought of waking her, but couldn't see a point. She had come back inside after only about an hour gone, without Dean, speaking to him shortly and trying to rub the redness outta her eyes. She looked like hell in a handbasket, and it was better to have her sleeping now when the action was low. The well was dry omens, on Sam, and on Dean. The old hunter didn't often feel helpless, but with both the Winchester boys out of commission and something definitely off about Melissa, and with the damn apocalypse hangin' over their heads, things were looking pretty bleak.

 **Author's Note:** Alright, that's just about the end of season 4. Get ready for season 5! I know I left quite a new questions with this chapter, I hope to get the next one up soon. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this installment!

A special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ , _**bjq**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your wonderful reviews! They keep me going and seeing your comments always make my day. Thank you again!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	57. Chapter Twenty-Three: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 _-_ **"Friend Of The Devil"** by Grateful Dead

\- **"Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"** by The Animals

\- **"Pennyroyal Tea"** by Nirvana

\- **"Older Chests"** by Damien Rice

 _ **Warning:**_ _This chapter contains depictions of anxiety and panic attacks that may be triggering to some readers._

 **Chapter Twenty-Three** **:** Part Two

 _Dusky and orange, the sky was cozy. They shared a clove cigarette in the evening light, sat in their creaky rockers on the porch of the apartment above the tattoo shop. One could practically hear the murmur of the night life in New Orleans, though it was a town over from Greenway. Melissa licked her lips, the sweet taste of the cigarette running down her throat and into her soul. September had brought only more summer, but she knew it wouldn't last as long as she wanted. The shop was closed on Sundays, and Jack was down visiting his mother in Plainview, so they'd had a quiet day alone together in the building._

" _Hey," Allen said softly, his glassy eyes looking out over the rundown street._

" _Yeah?" she said, blowing out the last of the smoke and flicking the butt over the railing._

" _We should get married," he replied wistfully._

 _She laughed, first quiet and then loud and jolly. "I love you, but I ain't ever gettin' married."_

" _Come on, don't you wanna be with me?" he asked, his voice still clouded with a dreamy air. She could tell from his eyes and his tone that he was still more than a little high from a few hours before._

 _She sighed, running a hand down her face. "Of course I wanna be with you, but I-"_

 _Her eyes widened as she saw a certain trench-coated angel in Allen's place next to her. And the world around them began to feel blurry._

" _Dammit, Castiel, get the hell outta my dream!" she commanded coldly._

 _Instead of beating around the bush like he usually did, though, he got straight to the damn point._

" _I've changed my mind," he said seriously in his gravelly voice. "I'm sorry, Melissa. I am. Find Dean. He'll be at Saint Mary's Convent. Maryland. Help Dean. Save. Dean."_

 _And before she even had a chance to react, he touched her forehead, and snapped her back to the reality that was often just another nightmare._

. . .

Gasping, she awoke. She cleared her throat and sighed. She hated falling asleep with her glasses on. She felt oddly feverish, waking up with the light streaming over her face. Bobby's house was lit up clean and golden, dust showing in the air. It took a moment for the dream to come back to her, and it came back with a rush. She stumbled out of her seat at the kitchen table, forgetting her glasses and knocking her whiskey over onto the lore.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, grabbing a towel and trying half-heartedly to clean the mess.

After a moment, she decided it wasn't worth it, and bounded around the old house seeking her old hunter friend. She had to impart the angel's message. They had to find Dean.

"Bobby?" she called, repeating it over and over as she past through the many dingy rooms and looked up the stairs for a moment. She got no response. She hurried out the front entrance, nearly ripping the storm door off its hinges as she went.

"Bobby!" she screamed again.

"Melissa?" he called back. She ran towards his voice, and found him hovering over the hood of some old minivan, taking a break from his research, or lack thereof.

"It's Dean," she said, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart. "Castiel, he told me. Dean. He's at Saint Mary's Convent, Maryland. Please, look it up and call me with the location. I'm leavin' now. I gotta find 'im."

. . .

She was halfway through Iowa, the engine of the red truck screaming, when the ring of Melissa's real cellphone broke through the silence around her. Her breath hitched when she saw the name.

"Dean," she said curtly as soon as she opened it, trying hard to focus on the early afternoon light falling over the highway. "Castiel told me, I'm coming to you."

"It's too late," he answered simply, almost before she had even finished her sentence.

"What?"

"Lucifer...he…" Dean began, and she heard him sigh tiredly through the phone. "It was Ruby, she led Sam there. Lillith...she was the last seal."

She took a wavering, deep breath and shook her head a little in the pause. "Where are you?"

. . .

Pounding loudly on the door to room 26 at the Regent Inn Motel, Melissa called for the Winchester boys.

"Hey! Lennon and McCartney!" she shouted into the desolate night air. They were in West Virginia, just a few miles over the border to Maryland. It had taken Melissa over 13 hours to get there. Over the phone, she'd instructed them to ward up the room and wait for her. She could get them back to Bobby's, and they could regroup. She'd had the whole drive to mull over having the devil loose on Earth, and she was a little more than burnt out by the time she arrived.

Dean was the one to greet her, looking haggard but alive. She pushed him in gently and closed the door behind her. He pulled her into a hug immediately, and it almost reminded her of the day he'd come back from hell. The way he'd held onto her for dear life. She could feel him shaking, his eyes closed and his head resting on her shoulder as she stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. They stayed that way for awhile, and Dean resisted a little when she finally pulled away to look at him.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He cleared his throat and sniffed. "Fantastic."

She gave him a soft smile and looked around the dimly lit room, finding them alone. The decor was red and abrasive, fitting for the day.

"Where's Sam?" she said through a yawn, resting her head on his shoulder as his hands stayed gently on her hips.

"Went to get a soda, I guess. Don't worry, he's got a couple hex bags in his pockets," Dean replied, then took her by the hand and led her to the bed, where they laid down next to each other, face-to-face. He could see her eyes were reddish from the hours of driving, and her skin was a little pale, but something else was off. Something in her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She laughed bitterly. "What's _wrong_? Dean, Lucifer's outta the cage, Sam's….well, he probably went darkside, right? I don't know. And you said Cas...he got smoked?"

"According to Chuck, yeah. It was the angels. They wanted to spring Satan loose, and Can got in the way. Sam, he...he said after Ruby died and the devil was out...he didn't want it anymore. But I don't know," Dean explained tiredly.

Melissa scoffed angrily. "Please, don't say 'Ruby.'"

Dean made a small noise of agreement as Melissa sat up in the bed, removing her boots and then resting her head on her knees. "And who the hell put you on that plane?" she asked, her voice muffled.

He sighed. "The angels? God?"

"Ha," she said sarcastically, feeling herself begin to wither against her knees in her exhaustion. "Like they've ever done anything good for us."

"Except Cas."

She flopped back onto the lumpy mattress dramatically, doing her best to mask the expression of indignance on her face. She couldn't tell him all that Castiel had told her. _Bigger fish_ , she kept telling herself. "So, are we talkin' four horsemen, red oceans, and stuff? Or is it like, post-Y2K apocalypse? With atomic bombs and killer robots and shit?"

He laughed his gravelly laugh. "I'm thinkin' it's the former, darlin.'"

Draping his arm over her waist, Dean relished in a beat of silence.

"Sure is a long time to get a Coke," Melissa murmured as they both began to doze.

"Well," Dean began sheepishly, "there may have been some yelling earlier...mostly on my part."

Melissa sighed heavily. "I get that you're pissed, Dean, but...he didn't know. He didn't know Ruby was the bitch she was...he thought-"

He cut her off when he took her face in his hand and gave him a chaste, rough kiss. Almost angry, but mostly frustrated. "And every time we told him, he didn't give a damn."

. . .

 _Whispers, there were whispers all around her. Moving her forward, shifting her back, tossing her around as if she were fighting the ocean's waves. She was vaguely aware that her shoes felt too small, and her dress was itchy. She was on her knees before a great alter, a rosary clutched in her small fists. Light cascaded all through the church, and the whispers filled her up and made her warm and clean._

 _She was saying the wrong prayer, she knew, but it just flowed from her mouth like a song she couldn't help singing along to._

" _Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take…"_

 _But suddenly, the voices stopped. It was only after they were gone that she recognized them, playing them over and over in her head. Her mother, Rosie, Allen, her brothers. And . She looked around, finding nothing but empty pews and ornately crafted windows. When she turned back forward, she saw a portly angel in a suit with graying hair._

" _Do your duty, Melissa Jane."_

. . .

Sounds of bullets clattering onto the kitchen table woke Dean. He groaned and reached for Melissa, too wary of the light to open his eyes quite yet, and he heard the noises stop as he began to stir. He found the other side of the bed empty, and he sat up slow, rubbing at his eyes. Looking around, he found Sam snoring and sprawled out like a starfish on the bed next to theirs, and it was only when he turn his head toward the motel room's small kitchenette that he found Melissa. He almost jumped, seeing her sat frozen in the shadows. It was relatively light out, but he figured it must have been only a little past three, at the most. She deflated a little when she saw his eyes had caught her.

Clearing his throat and stepping quietly out of bed, though he knew a train whistle probably couldn't wake Sam up, he made his way over to her.

"What the hell?" he whispered when he saw what she was doing beneath the soft, yellow light of the lamp on the table. Guns, towels, and oil were sprawled all over the table, with shells and jackets mixed in with the pile.

"Just go back to bed, alright?" she said impatiently, dismayed that she'd been discovered.

"I say again, what the hell are you doing?" he asked again more harshly, gesturing to the insanity on the table before her.

"What does it look like I'm doin,' asshat? I'm cleaning the guns. Now, why don't you go get some more beauty sleep, princess," she snapped, looking back down at the rifle in her hands, beginning to polish it with the oil and a motel rag that would now undoubtedly be ruined.

He ran a hand down his haggard face, feeling that he needed to shave. "What's going on with you?" he asked seriously, a crease forming between his brows.

"Nothing, okay? Just the apocalypse, y'know," she said mockingly, not bothering to meet his eyes as he towered over her. "But you know what, ain't anythin' I can do about it! What I can do? I can clean the damn guns!"

She hadn't meant to raise her voice, and she looked over to Sam nervously. But he was still out like a light.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Dean kept up his questions, eyeing her carefully.

"No, _Mom_ , I did not," she said almost immediately, her tone still not wavering. She went at polishing the gun furiously, her tongue sticking out a little in concentration. His face softened. She was one hell of a liar, but after knowing her so long, he wasn't as easy to convince.

Slowly, he tried to take the unloaded gun from her. She slapped his hand away.

"Go back to sleep, gorgeous," she urged, her voice bent in frustration.

He sighed again, then backed off. "It's a nice night," he said, changing to a light air as he moved towards the door. "You know where to find me."

Listening to him shut the door quietly, Melissa bowed her head. Everything was mixed up. She couldn't keep a single thought straight. Her hands were shaky as she kept at the gun, one that was already spotless.

"Dammit," she said to herself as she put the gun down next to her, got up, and donned her jacket, stomach churning with worry. She'd felt sick since that little visit from Castiel.

She didn't notice how grimy the metal balcony of the motel was as she stepped onto it in her bare feet. Dean leaned over the railing, looking out at the starry summer sky. The black of the night was fading already. There was a warm breeze, and it made Melissa feel safer. She came up beside him and took a deep breath before she spoke.

"I was asleep. When Lucifer got out. I coulda stopped it. But I didn't."

"So could I," Dean lamented.

He looked over at her when she didn't reply, and he saw her face crumpling as she looked down her her hands, her forearms resting on the hard, rusted railing.

"Dean, I'm just-" she said, trying her best to hold it all in and failing miserably. He wanted to touch her, to slow her heart, but he was apprehensive. Her face was flushed in anger, and she didn't look exactly like she needed a hug. "It's in my head all the time. I'm so...mad at everything. I have no control. None. I just sit back and I watch, like I'm outside myself. I watch myself fail and kill and let people down. I watch the apocalypse start. I sit back and I watch when you and Sam almost get ganked by the damn devil. And it's like all I can do is watch...it's like when I was inside myself, when that bitch possessed me."

He put a hand over hers and waited for her to continue.

"And here I am again, making it all about me. But every minute, when I'm asleep or awake, it's there...this thing I can never beat and never do anything about. The darkness," she said quietly, occasionally sniffing but managing to keep the tears mostly at bay. She needed to tell him something, so he could get off her back, but she couldn't tell him everything. Not now.

He watched as the slight wind blew the hair away from her face and the low light made her look ghostly. She cleared her throat and looked back at him with glassy eyes.

"I will _wreck_ you, Dean. This. I-I-I can't do what you think I can...this is too much...there's…" she stopped short, feeling over the pocket of her leather for her keys.

And then, she let all rational thought exit her mind, turning from him and rushing away from him towards the motel stairs, her hair flying wildly behind her. She heard Dean calling her, but it didn't matter. He was following her, she knew, but it didn't matter. All that ran through her mind was getting away. She felt as though she was collapsing in on herself. She wanted the silence of solitude and the smell of her truck and places where no one knew her name. She wanted out from the angels. The angels that had ruled her whole life. It was hardly even her mind, it was her body. Her body carrying her away from all of it. Spots clouded practically her entire field of vision before she reached the truck.

She fumbled with her keys, ignoring the overwhelming sounds of the crickets around her, and the rocks from the parking lot in the bottoms of her bare feet. Dropping her keys, she felt Dean grasp her arm.

"Missy! You are _not_ running away right now!"

She whipped around to face him. "Don't tell me what I'm doing!" She shoved him away by his chest hard. He stumbled back but set his face in determined worry.

"What's wrong?" he shouted, trying again fruitlessly to grab her arms and calm her down. He'd never seen her in this kind of a frenzy.

"I can't do it, Dean! Get the hell off me!"

She was nearly screaming now. If only she could pick up her keys. Pick up her keys and speed away and leave it all behind. Go to Alaska or Canada. Cuba or China. Somewhere not even her past could find her. She felt like her mind was a million miles above, watching her from somewhere else. She almost couldn't feel her body. All she could feel was her need to tear away from this place.

Dean noticed the patches of red blooming at her collarbone and the way her hands trembled viciously. He couldn't understand how this one nightmare had turned life or death for her.

"Melissa! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks now, though she couldn't figure out when she had started crying. She fought against him for a moment longer, but then she paled and felt a burning brew within her chest, and all of a sudden she could barely breath. Her arms went limp within Dean's grasp and she looked at him with an alarmed expression he'd never seen before.

"Dean…" she pleaded as she gasped for air through her tears.

His eyes widened in realization. "Whoa, hey, okay." He eased her down the side of the car so she came to sit before him as he squatted in the parking lot.

She shook her head a little and her breath picked up even more, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest.

"You're alright, Missy, everything's fine," he did his best to remain calm, but watching her crumple before him was trying his strength. Slowly, he brought her shaky hands to his chest and spoke softly. "I've got you. Just breathe like me, okay?"

She continued to gasp and did her best not to cry, and her cheeks burned in shame as she tried to regain control of herself. Squeaking noises of distress bubbled from her throat, mixing with sobs. Breathing out, she swallowed and found her throat dry. She did as he said, matching him, and feeling his heartbeat faintly beneath her tingly hands.

"I'm okay," she sniffed, cringing at how watery and weak her voice sounded. She shivered, her jaw shaking as she exhaled. She was feeling lightheaded, but was back down to Earth. Her lungs felt sore as she grounded herself in his gaze.

"You sure?" he asked slowly. She nodded, and he helped her up with strong hands on her elbows, grabbing her keys on his way up. She was wobbly, and the dizziness hit her like a ton of bricks, leaning back hard against the truck's driver side door. He brought his hands to her hot cheeks and wiped away anxious tears.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his t-shirt and his familiar smell. Shaking like a leaf and still feeling oddly numb, Melissa's puffy face felt bruised. Bruised more though, was her pride. Something like this hadn't happened to her in awhile, and had almost never happened in front of someone else. And she was burdening him in a time when she should have been a rock. But, in that moment, she had to stop the thoughts, feeling her heart rise in her throat again.

"You wanna go for a ride?" he asked quietly, and she felt his voice rumble warmly in his chest. It would have made her smile if she had felt like herself. "We can listen to Pink Floyd."

She cleared her throat, trying to gain her voice and her stillness back. "No, you should sleep."

"What? You think I can get back to sleep with Sam snoring up a storm up there?"

. . .

For the first few minutes, neither of them said a word. Occasionally, Dean ran a hand over her arm or through her hair, but for that little while it was just about her slowly getting her heart rate to calm. Dean had snuck up to the room before leaving, grabbing a few hex bags and their shoes, in an effort to keep her mind off of getting caught by the demons or the angels. It didn't seem to help much. Despite her jacket wrapped tightly around her and the heating of the old truck blasting, her whole body shook. More unnerving was the way she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"So…" he began about ten miles out from the motel, unsure how to break the ice, "has that ever happened to you before?"

She took a deep breath in, trying to wipe more stray tears away discreetly, though they both knew he could see her still crying. "Yeah...it started after the accident. And I...just every once in a while. When things get...too much and I can't breathe."

She felt so exposed. No one had ever broached this subject with her, not even the people who were supposed to be taking care of her in the few years before she truly went out on her own. She'd never told Allen about it, managed to hide it. She'd been planning to do the same with Dean. It was just another thing going wrong. Her throat felt dangerously close to closing up again. The dawn was coming, but she wished she could be swallowed up into the darkness before the night ended.

He nodded, pulling over on the side of a country road. There was a field, and out the windshield the stars could be seen fading. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and eased her head into his lap, though she felt oddly stiff under his touch. It made him want to hold her and never let go until they could just fade away together.

"And that's why you walk away," he said, putting the pieces together in his mind. He remembered when she got sick on the side of the road where her family's car had crashed, the morning when she left him, the way she tensed up in all parts of the hospital besides the morgue. And it all made sense.

He kept running his hands through her heavy hair as she sighed and put her hands over her face in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she groaned. "Just forget about it, okay? It's not a big deal, sometimes it just happens."

"That looked like a pretty big deal to me, baby," he told her, though his tone was balanced as he looked down at her. "Don't be sorry."

She didn't reply, tapping her fingers along to the beat of the Pink Floyd playing softly through the speakers. Maybe if she just blocked it out the world would just fall into the ground below her, and all that would be left would be this moment, with Pink Floyd and Dean enveloping her in warmth.

Still running his calloused hands along her scalp, he made goosebumps rise on her skin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because what kind of hunter freezes up and freaks out like that?" she snapped, angry not with him but with herself.

He sighed. "I wish you could see what a badass you are."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious," he cracked a little smile watching her begin to soften. This particular box they'd approached seemed to be very tightly locked, but he could see this was a start. "I mean how many guys get to love a woman who saved his ass from a Wendigo the first time they met 'em?"

"Guys who are stupid enough to love women who have fucking panic attacks the night after their brother opens the door up for the devil," she looked away from him, her face heating up crimson again.

"It's not your fault," he said softly. "What do you...do when that happens to you? How do you handle it?"

"Alright, _Good Will Hunting_ ," she mocked him tiredly. "I didn't realize we drove all the way out here for a fuckin' therapy session."

"Look, I wanna help you-" he began, but she cut him off.

"'But I can't do that if you don't talk to me.' Yeah, I know," she sighed. She tried to best to organize her thoughts and had to remind herself that if there was one thing Dean always tried to do, it was help. She sat up in his lap, leaning against the window with her legs sprawled out over his lap and the rest of the seat. "I go...inside my head, if I can even get there...I go to the beach we used to visit when I was a kid, okay?"

He gave her a small smile, knowing he'd finally broken her prickly exterior. "Where was it?"

"It was called Driftwood Beach...on Jekyll Island. The quietest beach on the Georgia coast. We used to stay at this shady-ass motel right on the beach that was built in the '50s. We could only afford single rooms, so all the kids had to sleep on the floor. But we got a balcony right on the beach," she said, looking out at the slowly-rising sun. Her eyes looked a million miles away, but he could feel the shaking beginning to subside, his hands draped loosely around her waist as she leaned her side on him.

She laid her head in the crook of his neck as she continued, taking herself away without having to run this time. "My favorite part was the stars. At night, I would go out alone onto that rickety-ass balcony and it looked like I was at the planetarium. There is no where else in the world with a clearer sky."

He pulled her in for a slow kiss, then, stilling her spinning head. As he came up for air, she rested her forehead on his.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked her huskily, his eyes closed.

"Yes."

"You can tell me, y'know? I don't want you to ever have to feel alone agai-"

She stopped him with another kiss, deeper this time. She wanted to taste him, reminding her that he was really there. After pulling away with a _smack_ , she relaxed into him.

"A couple months before Allen died, he proposed to me. I said no," she told him, her voice finally mostly back to normal. "I dreamed of it."

Still, she was dancing around the truth. But it made her stomach squirm to think of telling Dean their love was manufactured, and the only reason she was with him was because she was a puppet for the angels. She felt it weighing on her heart, but right now, it could stay a burden only she had to bear on her soul.

"I didn't know that," he replied plainly.

"I never wanted to be married. When you grow up in a house like mine, you learn real quick that marriage sure as hell don't equal love," she admitted, pausing to bite her lip and gather herself. His grip around her tightened just a touch.

"But if I had known, I woulda gone off to a chapel with him the second he asked me. It would have ended the same way as long as he was still with me, but maybe then he wouldn't have died disappointed, thinking he loved me more than I loved him. And I worry all the time about disappointing you the way I disappointed him," she said, her whole body hot with the vulnerability of confession. She felt positively naked.

She sniffed, wiping newly shed tears. He didn't respond for a moment, looking down at her hands in her lap, and breathing slowly. She cleared her throat, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the cool glass of the truck's window. They were now drenched in a murky bluish-yellow light.

It was an odd feeling, when he kissed her eyelids, then each cheek, then down to the lips. Each chaste and strong. Each telling her it would be alright. She couldn't see him when he spoke again, and she couldn't tell if she was almost asleep, but as he said it, she knew this time she would rest more soundly.

"I don't know much, but I know this. I know that there is no way you could ever disappoint me so much that I didn't love you anymore."

She wanted to scoff at this, but suppressed her urge and let him continue.

"And you ever feel like you can't breathe, just look at me, tell me, and I'll take you to the beach. I'll always take you to the beach."

 **Author's Note:** Sorry I've been away a little while, but I managed to make this chapter quite long. It was very difficult to write, but I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope it made it easier for you to understand Melissa a little more. I'd just like to add that the events in this chapter were developed from my own experiences with anxiety, and are not meant to represent anxiety in general. Thanks for reading!

Special thanks goes to _**Helenabelle2**_ , _**Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews on that last chapter! I'd love to know what you think of this installment, since it's a little different from the norm. I hope y'all know you're the reason this story continues, and it always brightens my day to see your feedback. Thank you!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	58. Chapter Twenty-Three: Part Three

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

- **"Black Magic Woman"** by Santana

\- **"Never Going Back Again"** by Fleetwood Mac

\- **"I'm On Fire"** by Bruce Springsteen

 **Chapter Twenty-Three : **Part Three

"You boys want your coffee Irish?" Melissa asked, shakily pouring three mugs of strong black coffee.

It was midday, but Melissa couldn't stop yawning. Altogether, she'd probably only gotten about two hours of sleep, this after driving straight through the day before. But she needed to stay alert, so she was self-medicating with caffeine. It wouldn't be the first time. She rubbed at her eyes before she reached for the whiskey, cracking her knuckles and trying to rid her joints of their fatigue and ache.

"That sounds alright," Dean answered from the bed. He was sat watching the news, flipping through the catastrophes that had spread across the Earth since Lucifer sprang forth. Sam didn't respond, but she sat a steaming mug in front of him on the kitchen table. His mind was too wrapped up in research and guilt to notice.

Dean nodded a little in thanks as she brought the two mugs over, leaning against the headboard next to him. They both took a few sips before he put his mug on the table beside him and grabbed her hand in his own. She mirrored his actions. All morning, he'd been doing these little things: a gentle hand on her back as he passed her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear while she watched TV beside him, running his thumb over her knuckles, kissing her cheek. For a minute, it made her pissed. She wasn't a child, and she didn't need to be treated like she was weak. But, again, she reminded herself. Help was all he wanted to do, and he wanted to even in the face of all that was falling apart around them. The coffee was getting cold and the news boring by the time there was a knock on the door. Sam hopped up the answer it, knocking over the coffee he hadn't noticed was there in the process. It barely missed staining the open pages of John's journal.

"Aw, damn!" he exclaimed.

Melissa sighed heavily, heaving her tired bones off the bed to get a towel. "I got it. You're on door duty."

Sam gave her a sheepish nod and an apologetic half-smile as he went for the door. It worried her, the state of his face. She didn't know what had happened between him and Dean before she arrived, but it sure didn't seem good. Hell, she'd barely seen them speak a word to each other. Maybe she should have been more pissed. Maybe she should also have been giving him the silent treatment. But there was something in her that would always forgive him easily. Sure, if she got the chance she was going to clock him plenty hard. In fact, she was going to beat him bloody. Though in her mind, when she thought of his mistake, this colossal mistake that no average person could ever imagine making, she saw Rosie. A younger sibling always in need of help. She saw her and Allen, junkies that would do anything to feel that addictive feeling again. So thirsty they were blind. He was selfish and irresponsible and arrogant. But she had been there, and she hadn't forgotten what it felt like to have to apologize for something she felt could never truly be forgiven.

"Hey, you okay, lady?" Sam asked after some other murmurs from the door. Melissa hadn't quite caught the beginning of the conversation. Dean stood to the side of the bed now, watching whatever was going on behind the door that faced her as she sopped up the whiskey-tinged coffee from the uneven kitchen table. But then, curiosity got the best of her, and she went over, leaving the mess half-cleaned.

Wiping her hands on her ragged jeans as she went over, she saw a short, blondish woman. She was beaming with excitement and practically having trouble breathing as she marveled at Sam, who stood opposite and absolutely towered over her.

"Sam...is that really you?" the woman said in a bright voice, bringing a hand to the younger Winchester's chest. "And you're so firm!"

Melissa couldn't help but laugh, though she was doing her best to cover it up as a cough. Sam stood there bewildered, his eyes wide and almost, strangely, innocent.

"Uh, do I know you?"

"No!" the woman squeaked. "But I know you. You're Sam Winchester. And you're-" she stopped for a moment to size Dean up as he stood near Melissa. "You're not what I pictured."

Melissa cleared her throat and again tried to hide her smirk. Dean shot her a playful glare and she raised an eyebrow at him, but she came to regret her amusement as the woman came over to her, a grave look in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Melissa?" she asked, with seemingly sincere concern, as she gripped Melissa's hands in her own, which were oddly cold.

"Um...yes?" Melissa replied, pulling her hands politely out of the strange woman's after a few insistent tugs. She glanced at Dean, but he only shrugged in response. She rolled her eyes at him. Some help. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just...the last scene in the final book…" the woman began, and suddenly it clicked in Melissa's head. She was a superfan. "You were screaming."

Melissa furrowed her brows, remembering the night Dean had gone to Hell. But she hadn't known anything that happened after Dean's chest got fileted was written into _Supernatural_. She noticed Sam giving her a melancholy look, no doubt remembering that night well, but she ignored him.

"Yeah...I'm um...I'm fine," Melissa told her, giving a half-smile.

The woman returned with a skeptical wide grin, twirling around with a nervous energy that was infectious. Melissa shifted her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably as Dean's eyes, full of guilty nostalgia, lingered.

"I read all about you guys. I'm Becky," the woman, Becky apparently, rambled. "I've even written a few...well…" She looked down with a giggle and a blush but didn't finish. "Anyway, Mister Edlund told me where you were."

"Chuck?" Dean asked.

Sam closed the door behind him and walked over, his ears now open at the mention of the prophetic writer.

"He's got a message," Becky continued, "but he's being watched. The angels. Nice change to the mythology by the way. The demon stuff was getting kinda old."

"Right," Sam said, his voice still with an air of confusion. "Just...what's the message?"

Becky seemed to brighten even more as Sam spoke. "He had a vision." She closed her eyes and gestured in front of her with each word as she spoke. "'The Michael sword is on Earth. The angels lost it.'"

Melissa shot Dean a glance.

"The Michael sword?" Dean asked with furrowed brows. That was the endgame, the thing the angels had told him would stop the apocalypse when they'd captured him. Of course they were on the lookout for it, but he hadn't expected it so damn soon. He'd barely had time to tell Sam and Melissa the ins and outs of what they were looking for.

"Becky, did he say where the sword is?" Sam chimed in.

"In a castle. On a hill made of forty-two dogs," Becky told them.

Melissa sighed, running her hands through her hair in frustration. She went over to the kitchen counter and took a swig of the whiskey.

"Forty-two dogs?" Dean repeated.

"Are you sure you got that right?" Sam asked.

"It doesn't make sense, but that's what he said," Becky insisted fervently. "I memorized every word."

She paused to inch towards Sam, placing a hand back on his chest. "For you."

Melissa choked on the whiskey with laughter, having trouble getting it down and then melting into a fit of coughing and giggles. Dean had an uncomfortable grimace, but she could tell he was trying not to smirk as Sam looked to them helplessly.

"Um...Becky?" the younger Winchester asked with a flush in his cheeks. "Can you...quit touching me?"

"No."

. . .

Against her better judgement, Melissa went to the old church down the street to read some lore books with Sam, trying to decipher whatever the hell Chuck's message was. The air was thick with humidity from a morning rain. Things were tense at the motel. That morning, Bobby had called to say he was on his way. Had been since the night before. He'd scrapped the original plan. Good thing, too, since Melissa didn't know of any place in South Dakota that had a hill of forty-two dogs. She walked along, her bare arms prickly with out-of-place goosebumps. There was a distance between her and Sam as they walked, almost the distance between strangers. They didn't speak as they entered the church, and upon a short conversation with the preacher they discovered it was a dead end. Most of their books had been donated to the local library, which to Melissa seemed odd, but felt rather fitting with the trajectory of the past few weeks. No other direction besides down.

"It'll just take time, Sam," Melissa blurted out as they neared the motel again on the walk back. She looked up to the overcast sky. She could tell Sam was walking slower than normal, avoiding their arrival back in the grimy room as long as he could. Bobby seemed the most pissed, actually. Had told Sam to lose his number once the mess was sorted. Melissa had felt that was uncalled for, but seeing the look in Bobby's eyes as she'd said it, she knew not to intervene. She'd never seen that look before.

"What will?" he asked, clearing his throat to answer the out-of-the-blue question. He shoved his hands anxiously into the pockets of his worn jeans.

"Just...Dean and Bobby and everything," she said apprehensively. She didn't quite know how to talk to him since the demon blood.

"Why not you?" he said, with seemingly sincere concern.

"I guess me. I don't know, Sam," she glanced over at him but had to look away when she saw his eyes on her. Since the night before, the butterflies in her stomach hadn't ceased. Dean seemed to be helping. Looking at him, her heart was put at ease. Her insides were warm and comfortable, knowing she had allowed someone else to shoulder her burden a little. But out here, in a strange city when someone she didn't feel she knew anymore had their eyes boring into her, the speed of her mind quickened.

She sighed. "I know you know Dean only acts the way he does because of how much he loves you. And I think he'll come around. Bobby...I don't know. But he's got a big heart, and he's known you since you were kneehigh to a grasshopper.

"I'm pissed at you, Sam, really. Trust me. But I don't think it'll get fixed by just clocking you one or something like I did after Dean got back. It ain't worth it. Maybe it's because...I couldn't take care of my sister the way Dean took care of you. I didn't protect her the way I should've. So maybe I just don't feel like fighting as hard as he does. Maybe I'm more exhausted than him. Or maybe I know what he's risking when he pushes you away."

They were approaching the door, ascending the creaky metal stairs. Sam gave her a crooked, small smile. "Thank you, Melissa."

"Don't thank me," she almost snapped, looking away. And her face darkened as she saw the door. It was kicked in. "Sam," she said, and took her gun from her waistband. They ran over, throwing the door open without a thought. Unconsciously, Sam stepped in before Melissa.

"No," he said as he saw the carnage before them. Melissa could feel they were demons by the way they moved; one was pounding Dean up against the wall by the bed. And Bobby laid bloody with the demon knife in his middle. Another man stood over him, expressionless.

A pale demon with long, curly hair looked back at them with a sinister smile. Black flashed over her eyes and Melissa clenched her jaw.

"Heya Sammy," she drawled. "Miss me? 'Cause I sure missed you."

"Ruby," Sam surmised darkly.

"Think back further," she said, teasing with a smirk.

"Meg," he said immediately, taking a swing at her. He missed and then Meg got to work on him. Melissa took the shot and ran over to Bobby when she thought she was still out of sight for the demons, kicking the one that stood over Bobby in the back of the knee to incapacitate him for a moment as she grabbed the knife from Bobby's gut gingerly. She barely had time to look up before the demon punched her hard in the jaw. She swallowed her pain, jostling with him for a moment before she managed to stab him square in the throat, some blood splattering against her face from the close proximity.

Next, she hustled over to one who was beating on Dean, stabbing him in the side and twisting the knife ruefully, a cold look in her eyes. She pulled the dead demon off of Dean, who looked up at her almost in surprise. She doubted he'd seen them come in. She knew with that kind of beating, all your senses seemed to disappear. But at least he was still conscious.

She had no time to really check him over though as she went to charge Meg. Strangely, the demon noticed her approaching, and backed away from a bloody Sam. She pointed to Melissa ominously, but said nothing more before escaping the body, retreating through the black smoke into an air vent.

. . .

Searching around frantically for something to wipe the blood of her face in the back of the Impala, she came up empty-handed. Nobody said anything as Dean sped angrily down the road. The harsh words Bobby had wounded Sam with made a lot more sense when Dean told them it was really a demon, who had attacked Dean after they'd figured out the Michael sword was really in one of John's old storage units in upstate New York. But being the man he was, Bobby was strong enough to come to, turning the knife on himself instead of Dean against the demon's will. He'd killed it, but now he was abandoned in an emergency room a few states behind them. There'd been no time to stay with him. The demons had heard where the Michael sword was. As long as he was with the doctors, they had to focus on the bigger picture. Dean hadn't even let Melissa come in the hospital to drop the older hunter off, worried the hospital employes would be suspicious of the blood that peppered her whole face, and the dark purple bruise flowering along one side of her jaw. The boys mostly had injuries covered by their clothing. Knowing the demon's blood still covered her was making her skin crawl, but she tried to ignore it as they finally made it to John's lockup and stormed in. It was night now, and though the sky was clear she could barely see any stars.

Guns loaded, they entered the lockup hesitantly. Melissa led the way, having been to the storage unit during one of her travels with John long ago. It had been a pesky cursed object, now locked up in a dusty box. She held her flashlight over her pistol steadily, a pit in her stomach. Something in the air felt off. It wasn't long before she found two demons sprawled dead on the floor amongst the shelves.

"I see you told the demons where the sword was," a voice broke through the charged silence, making them jump. Melissa looked up to see the balding, gray-haired angel from her dreams along with two other heavenly beings behind him.

She gritted her teeth together. "You son of a bitch!" She shot at the angel, right in the center of his chest. She knew it wouldn't kill him, but something flashed within her when she saw his face. Castiel was the messenger. This one felt far more like the source.

"Whoa!" Dean blurted out in alarm. He grabbed her arm but she shook him off, not even giving him a glance. She kept her gun in the air.

"Ah, Melissa Jane. Finally we meet in waking time," the angel said smugly, pretending to brush dust off his shoulders mockingly. "I'm Zachariah. And you've certainly lived up to your famous temper, but now is really not the time."

She sighed heavily, then turned back to the boys, who both looked beyond confused. " _That's_ Zachariah?"

Sure, she'd heard about him from them, but had never been around to meet him in person.

"Um...yeah?" Sam told her, his brows furrowed.

Sighing again, she lowered her gun and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, but said nothing more. Dean was about to raise some questions, but Zachariah beat him to the punch.

"And to think, the demons _could_ have taken the Michael sword any time they wanted," the angel mused, holding a constant little smirk. Melissa's stomach turned at his expression; it was vile.

Zachariah waved a hand in front of him and shut the door to the unit. "It was right in front of them the whole time."

"What do you mean?" Sam piped up.

"We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We did lose the Michael sword," Zachariah continued. "We truly couldn't find it. Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us."

"We don't have anything," Dean said insistently, his knuckles turning white from the strength of the grip on his shotgun.

"It's _you_ , chucklehead," Zachariah said, facing Dean with dark eyes and that same sickening smirk. "You're the Michael sword."

Dean tilted his head in question and anger.

"What, you actually thought you could kill Lucifer? You miserable wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one."

"What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean ignored the jabs at his character.

"You're Michael's weapon," Zachariah answered. "Or, rather, his...receptacle."

"I'm a vessel?" the elder Winchester asked, his face flushing in frustration though his voice was even.

"You're _the_ vessel. You're Michael's sword," Zachariah explained.

Melissa shared a worried glance with Sam and her stomach sank.

"How? Why-why me?" Dean stammered.

"Because you're chosen! It's a great honor."

"Oh yeah, life as an angel condom. Real fun," Dean mocked the angel. "I think I'll pass, thanks."

"Joking. Always joking," Zachariah surmised. "Well, no more jokes." The angel raised his hand in the shape of a gun and pointed to Sam. "Bang."

The younger Winchester let out a cry and felt backwards, both his legs audibly breaking.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, looking back at his brother with worry but continuing to stand his ground.

Melissa didn't waste time with words, shooting Zachariah again, her face set with rage.

The portly angel shot his head to her almost with an expression of amusement. "And _you_. Always with the shooting. Always with the rebellion." He paused to raise his palm at her. "Pow. Malignant ovarian cysts."

Melissa's eyes widened as she realized the pain within her, and felt blood spreading on the insides of her thighs, staining her jeans. She'd never felt this kind of pain, the kind that seemed to radiate out from her middle and hum all throughout her. She dropped her gun and fell to her knees with a pained gasp, a hand to her stomach and her eyes squeezing shut.

"Melissa!" Dean yelled, putting a hand on her shoulder for a moment and then turning back to face the angel again. He had to listen, or else their pain wouldn't stop.

"I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun, and we don't have our general. That's bad."

"My god," Melissa looked up at the angel with her piercing blue eyes. "You really love the sound of your own voice," she chided him weakly.

He stared at her for a moment, but seemed to recoil from his next attempt at hurting her. He turned his attention to Dean again. "Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"

"And how many humans die in the crossfire, huh?" Dean asked. "A million? Five, ten?"

Melissa's ears were ringing with her pain, and her hearing got messy at the edges. But she knew that the core of it was that if Dean really was the vessel, Michael needed permission. And Dean sure as hell wasn't going to give it.

"There is no other way," she heard Zachariah as she tried her best to focus. "Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean gave a mocking sure. "But on the other hand...eat me. The answer's no."

"Okay," Zachariah still kept his cool. "How about this? Your friend Bobby-we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, we'll heal him. Say no, and he'll never walk again."

"No," Dean kept on.

"Then how about we heal you from...stage four stomach cancer?" Zachariah said, and suddenly Dean doubled over, spitting up blood and clutching his middle.

"No," he told the angel again, his voice watery.

"Then let's get really creative. Let's see how Sam does without his lungs!" Zachariah said gleefully. Melissa didn't have the strength to turn behind her, but could hear Sam struggling for air. It broke her heart.

"Are we having fun yet?" the angel continued his monologue. "You're going to say yes, Dean."

"Just kill us," Dean pleaded.

"Kill you?" Zachariah laughed. "Oh no. I'm just getting started."

But then, a bright light overpowered their vision. For a moment, Melissa thought it was the white light of heaven, but then it cleared. And she still knelt in agony on the dirty concrete floor. It only took a moment to see who had appeared: Castiel. And it only took one more moment for Castiel to annihilate the two angels that had escorted Zachariah.

"How are you…" Zachariah said, lost for words.

"Alive?" Cas finished for him. "That's a good question. How did these boys end up on that airplane? Another good question. 'Cause the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"

"No, that's not possible," she heard Zachariah insist. But she couldn't see it anymore, and the noises were fading away. She only vaguely registered that she was close to passing out, probably due to the blood loss. But she did her best to keep conscious.

"It scares you," Cas said. "And well it should. Now, put these people back together. And go. I won't ask twice."

And instantly, the pain was gone. So was Zachariah. Sam coughed as the air came back to him, but eventually all three of the hunters were standing before the trench-coated angel steadily.

"You three are going to need to be more careful," Castiel advised them gravely.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that," Dean said. "Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought."

"I don't mean the angels," Castiel told them. "Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you."

Melissa's blood ran cold. He was circling his vessel. Some chord within her had been struck. Something about the way he said it, as though she had heard it before. Perhaps in a dream? The images she could conjure up were all hazy.

Castiel put his hands to Dean and Sam's chests, and both gasped.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

"An Enochian sigil. It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer," Castiel explained.

"What, did you just brand us with it?"

"No, I carved it into your ribs," Castiel said with so little emotion it was almost comical. He turned to Melissa, who stood on Dean's far side, and put his palm to her chest. She flinched at his touch but felt nothing as he took his hand away.

She furrowed her brows at him. "I couldn't feel that," she murmured, then looked at Castiel darkly and took a threatening step towards him. "Why didn't that hurt me?"

Castiel cleared his throat uncomfortably at her aggressive tone, shooting a look to Dean and Sam before turning his gaze back to her. "Because of the bubble, as it's been so explained to you," he said quietly.

"What 'bubble'?" Dean asked immediately.

"Shut up, Dean," Melissa commanded meanly before she could stop herself. She advanced towards Castiel once more until they were almost nose to nose.

"Take it away," she growled. She took a deep breath in an attempt to collect herself, and when she spoke again she didn't sound quite so murderous. "Take it away, and I'll let all of this go, okay? I don't want it. Whatever it is. Take it away. Please."

He gave her a cautious look, but complied. Putting two fingers to her forehead gently, he knocked her out cold in an instant. But, the spell was lifted.

. . .

She started grabbing for her gun as soon as she woke, but instead found a soft comforter beneath her. Sitting up quickly, spots danced in her field of vision for a moment. Her mind ached even under the dim lights of the hotel and she was forced to pause for a moment to get her bearings.

"Hey," she heard Dean beside her. His boots were off, but he looked like he hadn't changed since the storage unit. She heard the low sound of the TV and his eyes were a little glazed as he stared ahead.

"Where are we?" she asked groggily, rubbing her eyes. Everything felt heavy.

"Back in West Virginia," he told her, sitting up a little straighter now and shutting the news off. It was all just more apocalypse warnings anyway.

"What happened?"

"To be honest, I don't know," he said, looking a little pissed. "All Cas said was that you were fine, just that you'd be out for a while. And then Sam asked him how he was alive, and he just left. We drove back to visit Bobby. That douchebag angel was right about one thing. Bobby probably ain't gonna walk again."

She sighed and looked down. "Goddammit."

"I had another fight with Sam while you were still knocked out in the back seat. It ain't good, Missy...I don't think I can ever trust him again," he admitted quickly, trying to cover up the way saying it made him feel. "Which is why I _need_ you to tell me...what the hell was that with you and the angels back there? What's a bubble?"

Hesitating for a moment before she met his eyeline, Melissa kept her tears at bay. He was right. She had to tell him. "Before Cas flipped to our side...he came to me in my dreams. He told me...I was chosen. Like the way you're chosen, but the reason I'm chosen I guess is because somewhere along the way, I'm meant to get you to say 'yes.'"

"What?" Dean asked. "Why the hell would you do that?"

She shrugged in defeat. "I don't know. He said something about how I was raised in the church and whatnot, but we were always meant to meet. Always. But he said somehow I always kept messing up the plan, shooting straight instead of hunting. So it was the angels that did all that stuff to fuck up my life. Just so they could keep what was in the cards...to get the apocalypse moving or whatever."

"Jesus," he said, looking somewhere between dumbfounded and angry.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, alright? I just didn't know how you would feel about us only getting together that way. Cas did say we were already soulmates or something... so once we met it wasn't so hard. But still...the whole thing...just," she took a moment to find her thoughts and get back on track before continuing. "And the bubble. That's this...thing they put around me to keep me in one piece and so I would stay on angel radar I guess. I don't know. Cas didn't really explain it to me, he just said that's why the angel mojo gets me different than most."

For a minute, he didn't answer. And she didn't realize she was holding her breath while waiting for a response until he spoke.

"Bastards," he muttered, then turned to her, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry. And Zachariah. He's been up your ass in your dreams?"

She nodded. "All the damn time."

He sighed, running a hand down his face. "I hate it when they do that."

Taking his hand in hers, she gave him a pointed, almost searching or confused look. "So you're okay with all this?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he asked as if it was the lightest subject in the world. In truth, it made him angrier than ever that those dicks had messed with her life that way, but after seeing her melt down, he wanted to keep everything above water. They'd been through enough in the past few days. "It's just another thing we got in common. We're both cursed."

She cracked a small smile. "You got that right, Winchester."

She brought him in for a kiss, making sure to be soft because of the split lip he was sporting after the demon brawl, and both felt much better as they pulled away from each other. For the moment, immediate danger was gone. And they were alone. The room actually looked nice. More hotel than motel. White decor with lights that weren't fluorescent. Melissa wondered why they'd chosen to splurge, but didn't ask. They both, for at least a little while, forgot about Bobby's injury, forgot about Sam's mistake, forgot about the angels and the demons. In that little while, they were just Dean and Melissa.

Dean looked down for a moment and then back up.

"We should shower," he said, gesturing to their clothes. Melissa frowned when she found she was still wearing her same, now ruined, jeans. The blood ran on the insides of her thighs from her crotch down to her knees.

"Right."

"You okay?" he asked, noticing her expression as he got up and took off his jeans.

She cleared her throat and gave him a half-smile, still on the bed as she began to undress. She tried to ignore the feeling in her stomach the sight evoked. That familiar, carsick-in-the-backseat feeling. "Um, yeah. I'm um...I-I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, then held a hand out to her. She tugged off her own jeans before she took his hands in hers, standing before him in only her underwear. She blew out a breath as he brushed her hair from her forehead.

"You lost a lotta blood," he murmured as he looked down at her jeans, then brought a soft touch to her badly bruised jaw. It was so purple, now it was nearly black.

"You should see the other guy," she joked with a small smile, but looked away under his scrutinizing eyes.

"I did. You kicked his ass. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, a broken record at this point. She ran a hand down the back of his neck, and broke into a satisfied grin when she felt the goosebumps she gave him rise beneath her touch.

"Definitely," she said. Her eyes lingered and she sighed at the sight of him. He was wrecked. " _You_ sure don't look it, though."

She frowned at the glassiness in his eyes. It had been a long time since she'd seen him so tired. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but she knew it was the fatigue. Sometimes he got a small fever with lack of sleep, she'd noticed. She would have gotten on his case about it, but held back tonight. She didn't even want to try to calculate the number of hours he'd been awake this time.

She brought the back of her hand to his cheek. He leaned into her cool, pale touch and closed his eyes, sighing in relief.

"Hm. You need sleep," she surmised softly, this time feeling at his forehead. Not too hot, but still enough to worry her. As always. "And advil."

"I'm alright," he took a step away from her.

Honestly, he would have been having trouble standing up, but he'd rested. He'd laid next to her as she was knocked out for around six hours. But he couldn't just sleep. Not when he knew she had angel juice running through her. He'd never seen it cause adverse side-effects, but if there was anyone they would happen to, it was her. Now, he was just in that phase of sleep deprivation where everything felt slightly out of focus, but he wasn't so aware of his fatigue.

She smirked knowingly, unclasping her bra and shedding her underwear now. "Such _lies_ from you, Winchester."

But as he tugged off his dirty t-shirt, her face instantly fell. Bruises darkened the ribs all down his left side.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, coming over and running her fingertips over the swollen, ugly skin. "I wish I could kill 'em all over again. And that Meg bitch...I swear."

He hissed in pain as she pressed the worst of it, where the blues and the blacks mixed into the colors of a hurricane in the nighttime.

"Sorry, gorgeous!" she said, retracting her hands and stepping away from him immediately. "Damn, I might as well give you a whole bottle of advil, and, no arguments, you are gonna let me ice that. And…" she sighed. "Does it hurt when you breathe? Because if they broke your ribs-"

"Baby, relax," he cut her off. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Let's just shower, alright? Then, you can take care of me all you want. Hell, I already feel worlds better now that you're awake."

She sighed as he went to kiss her neck. "Don't you sweet-talk me right now, Winchester."

"Ah, you love it," he said, and she could feel his smirk against her skin.

He stepped away for a moment and pulled off his boxers, matching her nakedness, and went back to take her face gently in his rough hands. Pulling away, he ran his thumb over her cheek, attempting to wipe away some of the demon blood that had been splattered on her as she saved them nearly two days before.

 **Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay, but I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to get the next chapter up quicker.

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ , _ **KittyBear98**_ , _ **bjq**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews on the last chapter! They really do keep me going, and I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter in light of the sensitive subject matter. It was a very difficult chapter for me to write. Anyway, hope to hear more from you in the future. Thank you so much!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!

Peace and love.


	59. Chapter Twenty-Four: Part One

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Fortunate Son"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

\- " **Go Your Own Way"** by Fleetwood Mac

\- " **Sweet Jane"** by The Velvet Underground

\- " **The End"** by The Doors

 **Chapter Twenty-Four** **:** Part One

Soldiers. Melissa's family was full of them. She knew what war could do to a man. Now, she knew what hell could do to a man. And she knew what it was like to be a soldier. In the weeks since discovering Dean was Michael's vessel, Melissa was coming to believe maybe she wasn't cut out for this kind of war. Cas had taken off, with Dean's amulet (much to Melissa's dismay) that could supposedly help find God. Melissa wasn't convinced. In her opinion, once Elvis left the building, he wasn't going to just waltz back in.

It was Sam who left next. Right after their little battle with Zachariah, the three hunters had been called to deal with a town called River Pass, supposedly overrun with demons. By the time the three arrived, Jo had been possessed, as had Rufus. Two groups had formed. The evil and the clean. But in the end, they learned it was all an illusion. The black eyes were make-believe. And a horseman was behind it all. Melissa was surprised when they'd found out. She'd imagined a gothic figure on an elegant stead. Instead it was a businessman who rode into town in a red Ferrari and called himself War. They'd given Melissa the honor of cutting his finger off, taking his ring, and draining him of his power. As they regrouped, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves in the wake of the trauma, Sam told them he'd decided to take a step back. Even if the demons he'd killed were make-believe, upon seeing their blood on his knife, all of his past feelings came back. If he couldn't trust himself, they certainly couldn't trust him.

Though he was, admittedly, right, Melissa couldn't help but feel pissed that he'd copped out. Just after seeing the beginnings of the destruction they were facing. The way the people of the town had been so eager to turn on each other. She could see every town in America succumbing. Killing each other. Going out not with a bang but a whimper. In their weeks without Sam, they'd kept on trucking, even teaming up with Cas for a little while and summoning the archangel Raphael. Unfortunately though, Raphael echoed Melissa's fears. God was nowhere to be found. Even for the archangels.

Melissa's mind was starting to wear thin. It was difficult not to feel hopeless. Cas gone at all hours, Sam off being a civilian. They could have called him, but there didn't seem to be a need. If he wanted out, they were going to keep him out. They had already decided. Luckily, there were a few normal hunts here and there to occupy her mind. It had been about a day since they killed a Rugaru in West Philadelphia. The drive to Bobby's was a long one, but they'd heard of no action that wasn't already being taken care of. So they decided to just head back. Thinking of him sitting alone in that dusty house in his wheelchair was almost too much for Melissa to bear. In fact, she was slightly dreading getting to his house. They'd wanted Castiel to heal the old hunter, but after rebelling, some of his powers were cut off. He was exiled from Heaven. Even he was on his own. Under the circumstances, it probably would have been strange had Melissa not felt at least a little stuck.

She blew out a slow breath, attempting to quiet her stomach. She blinked hard and tried at processing the words before her, squinting behind her glasses. It was difficult to read John's scratchy handwriting in the scant streetlights as they neared Kansas City. It was almost midnight.

"Would you take a break? You're gonna get carsick," she heard Dean scold her from the driver's seat.

Snapping the book shut with a _snap_ , she cleared her throat and took off her glasses. "Yeah, too late for that."

He chuckled knowingly and took her hand, a little bored watching the tired highway as she tried her best to find something in the old journal. Something that could kill the devil, or at least _find_ the devil. It was a long shot, but it was the best shot they had.

"I have one," she said, rubbing at her eyes.

"Shoot."

"Favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd song?"

"Damn, ummm," he said, humming in thought. He always had a hard time choosing with the favorite song questions. "I think Simple Man."

"Not Free Bird?"

"Nah, that one's overrated," he said. She scooted over and leaned on him.

"You're on dangerous ground with that kinda talk," she teased.

"Hey, at least I'm not knockin' the Grateful Dead," he said with a smirk as she put his arm around her shoulder, passing the sign for the Kansas City limits.

"You wouldn't dare," she said with a yawn.

"Why didn't you just sleep? We've been in this car for damn near sixteen hours," he asked, always a little more concerned about her taking care of herself since he'd seen her panic.

"Seventeen," she corrected plainly.

"Exactly. I told you I didn't mind," he told her, fighting a little to keep awake himself. There were signs for a motel six miles away and his body was aching for even a crappy motel mattress. They'd slept in the Impala the last two nights. Melissa had been murmuring and sometimes crying in her sleep as she laid on top of him. It hadn't exactly been the most restful experience.

"Dean, I'm fine. If you're awake, I'm awake. I mean, maybe if you let me drive some we could take shifts sleeping but-"

"But that ain't happening," he finished for her.

She sighed dramatically. "It's gonna. One of these days, Dean. Trust me. I'm very persuasive."

. . .

Both of them could sleep a little more soundly. Cas had called just as they got into the particularly run-down motel to tell them word on the street was the Colt was still floating around somewhere in the demon realm. It was odd to be talking about it again; it brought Melissa back to those first hunts with them, when John had still been alive. They'd hardly spoken a word about the weapon since Bela sold it, figuring it had been destroyed by the demons in some way. She was dreaming of him that night. The mythical John Winchester. She dreamt of him with the locket in his bloody hands, looking at her expectantly. He didn't say a word, and though his eyes were kind, they scared her. He seemed as though he would be about to speak when Dean's ringtone brought her out of her slumber.

She groaned as Dean disentangled himself from her clumsily and turned over, reaching for his nightstand.

"Dammit Cas," he warned gruffly as he answered. "We need to sleep."

There was a pause and Melissa had begun dozing when he spoke again.

"Sam? It's a quarter past four."

Melissa's eyes shot open at the name and she sat up next to him, leaning against the worn mahogany headboard. "Put him on speaker."

. . .

Struggling to untangle her hair from its french braid, Melissa slumped back in her chair at the rickety kitchen table. Most of the lightbulbs were blown out in their room, but her eyes were still struggling to adjust from sleep into the harsh yellow atmosphere. She fiddled with her dark, messy locks, needing something to occupy her hands. Dean came to sit next to her, putting a beer on the table in front of her. She took a long swig as the conversation continued.

"So you're his vessel, huh?" Dean said almost nonchalantly, looking to the open flip-phone in the center of the table. "Lucifer's wearing you to the prom."

"That's what he said," Sam came through the other end of the line. He just recounted how Lucifer came to him, disguised at first as Jessica, then revealing his true form and ambitions. But Lucifer, too, was an angel. And he needed permission to enter, so Melissa wasn't as worried about it as she could have been. Sam would never say 'yes.' She was mostly frustrated that more was being piled on to their already complicated situation.

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?" Dean said lightly, taking a sip. Melissa hiccuped after downing her whole bottle, regretting drinking it so fast.

"So, that's it? That's your response?" Sam asked, dumbfounded.

"What are you looking for?" Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

"I don't know," Sam said. "A little panic maybe? Something."

"I guess I'm just a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean shrugged. Melissa held her head in her hands and yawned.

"Well, what should we do about it?" Sam asked.

"What do _you_ wanna do about it, Sam?" Dean countered pointedly.

"I want back in, for starters."

Melissa shook her head at Dean. "Sam-" the elder Winchester began.

"I mean it," Sam cut him off. "I am _sick_ of being a puppet for these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down."

"Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we? Because that worked out so well the last time," Dean scolded his little brother.

"Not revenge, Dean," Sam corrected tiredly. "Redemption."

"Sam, you're out," Melissa interjected with a tone of finality neither of the brothers had been using. "You're staying out."

"Look, guys, I can do this," Sam insisted. "I'm gonna prove myself."

"I think you're forgetting again, Sam," Melissa leaned forward with her crossed arms on the table. "I know where you are. Anything you can do to stay away from all this, it's the best thing for you, alright? Who knows what you'll do...or _say_...if you get hooked on demon juice again. You let him out of his box because of it...who knows if you won't let him in too."

Sam sighed heavily.

"Look, Sam, it doesn't matter anyway. You and I...we're the fire and the oil of the apocalypse now," Dean told him. "We might as well just pick a hemisphere and stay away from each other for good."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Sam was practically pleading now. "We can fight it. _I_ can fight it."

"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together," Dean paused for a moment and ran a hand down his face. Melissa began to pace. "We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us..love, family, whatever it is...they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways."

"Dean, don't do this," Sam said, his voice weak.

Dean reached down to hang up the phone. "Bye, Sam."

. . .

The familiar sounds of a blaring nightstand alarm clock hadn't snapped Melissa out of sleep in years. It was usually Dean shaking her shoulder, or his heavy metal ringtone. She cleared her throat, opening her eyes slowly to see a view out a window. It was rainy, but there were birds chirping. She looked over at the alarm clock, nearly punching it to cut it off. Half past six. She sighed, but furrowed her brows as she looked around. There wasn't a window near the bed in the motel. The decor wasn't light blue and green. Then it occurred to her. The man laying next to her wasn't Dean. He had reddish hair and a lankier build. He looked groggy as she gaped at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

Instead of answering normally, she started to scream, grabbing for a gun under the pillow and finding nothing there. She leapt out of bed, looking around for a weapon and opting for the big ceramic lamp. The man, who she now saw was very tall and had light brown eyes, looked utterly confused. He took a step in her direction and she flinched, raising the lamp at him from the other side of the large bed.

"Do not come any closer," she warned loudly. "Who are you? _What_ are you? Where am I?"

"Babe, what do you mean? Are you sleepwalking again?" he advanced on her again, and this time she opted for flight instead of fight.

She didn't have time to stop and look at the pictures that went all down the wall of the staircase. She felt her chest burning and her breath leaving her as she tripped on the last couple of the carpeted steps, rolling her right ankle badly in the process. She landed on her ass at the bottom of the stairs right inside a modest front door.

"Fuck," she growled, putting the lamp she had been holding aside and bringing both hands around her thin ankle. It was already starting to turn blue.

"Elliot, don't," she heard the mystery man call from the upper floor as another set of footsteps descended the stairs.

She leaned her head back and tried her best to breathe, starting to see spots. She knew she should get up and keep running, but there were just too many questions and she didn't have a weapon anyway.

"Mom...did you fall?" a small voice asked as a little hand came to her shoulder. She snapped her eyes open and turned around. Her breath hitched in her throat. The eyes she was met with were almost identical to her own. A little boy was now sitting on the step behind her. He looked to be around four, maybe five. He had the same reddish hair as the man she'd woken up next to, but her eyes were his. And had he just called her 'mom'?

The tall man came rushing down the stairs just then, picking the little boy up in the process. "Jesus, Janie. What'd you do to your ankle?"

"I...um…" she stammered, her eyes searching around the small front room for an answer. That's when she saw it. It was in a small frame above the coat rack near the door. The little boy was holding her hand, though he looked younger in it. The tall man held her other hand as they smiled, and with his other arm the man held a baby. A baby so tiny in the photograph it's face was barely visible from this distance.

"Are you awake now?" the man's voice came to her again in the midst of her confusion. He bent down, the tired little boy clinging to him, and brought a hand to her face in concern. "You were dreaming again, baby."

"Oh...I'm sorry...I didn't mean…" she was still lost for words, looking over at the lamp and then back into the man's kind eyes.

The man sighed, then nodded slowly, rising again. "Alright, Elliot, let's go get Mommy some ice and then it's time to get ready for school."

After managing to get up, she hobbled in the direction the man had carried the little boy, Elliot. She almost laughed at herself. She knew she was being dramatic; she'd been shot before, but she'd rolled her ankle pretty damn severely. She made it to a small kitchen and sat down at the circle table across from the Elliot.

"Daddy made you some ice," the little boy told her with bright eyes, pointing to the plastic bag in the center of the table.

She gave him a weak smile, taking it and pressing it to the swollen skin. "Thank you," she said softly, not sure how to act.

Mixing something in a big blue bowl, the tall man (she knew she'd probably have to figure out his name at some point soon) turned around his shoulder and spoke to her with a light tone.

"Are you feelin' okay? I don't think I've seen you sleepwalk like that in a while."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just...vivid dreams," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He nodded at her and turned back to his mixing, pouring batter onto a skillet for what she now realized was pancakes. "Okay, maybe you should call in sick just in case. You've been so stressed lately, and now with your ankle. You could just hang around, maybe keep Susie home too."

Elliot made protests about the unfairness of going to school when Susie didn't, but the tall man managed to scold him enough that he quieted down.

"Oh...sure," she said.

"Speaking of, why don't you go wake her up? She's probably hungry," he said. "If you can make it up the stairs."

She scoffed. "'Course I can."

. . .

Instead of searching around for a bedroom, for whoever Susie was, Melissa looked for a bathroom first. Luckily, there was an en suite in the bedroom, so she didn't have to go lurking in the hallway. Her face fell when she saw that she was hearing nothing but a KISS t-shirt. Damn hair music. She splashed cold water on her face and kept her breathing slow.

"It's alright, everything's fine, it's fine," she whispered to herself, then got to work searching for Susie in an effort not to look suspicious to the tall man for taking too long.

Melissa found who she was looking quickly. In the room to the left of her and the tall man's, a tiny girl was sound asleep on a mattress with pink sheets. The walls were painted a light pink too, the only other furniture in the small room was a little bookcase and a dresser. She got close, but hesitated a moment before she sat down on the edge of the mattress. She took a moment to get familiar with the sight before her. The little girl looked to be around two, old enough to be out of a crib but not old enough to have a bed frame, which explained why the mattress was just laid on the floor.

She had short, stick-straight dark hair and pale skin. She had a button nose and rosebud lips. She was beautiful. But Melissa was having trouble wrapping her head around the fact that she had kids...maybe...wherever she was. She was gonna have to start getting some answers soon. For now, though, all she had to do was wake up a little girl. She started running her hands through the little girl's hair, waking her slowly. It was odd; it felt alien.

Her eyes begin to open, and Melissa saw they belonged to the tall man. They were big and light brown and guileless.

"Hey, Susie," Melissa greeted the little girl softly, and began to feel like she was probably just in a dream.

. . .

Dean awoke slowly, noticing the room smelled damper and molider now than it had the night before. The air was stuffy and hot, and it made him feel claustrophobic. He felt for Melissa next to him, but found her gone. Finally opening his eyes, he was met with graffitied walls and only spring beneath him instead of a mattress. He hopped up and walked over to the window, looking out on the wrecked city that had last night looked so pristine compared to now. The air was grey and full of smog, and many of the buildings had broken windows, or places that looked like they had been blown up.

He wasted no time grabbing his gun and phone before going out to investigate the destroyed city, wandering the grimy streets for a few minutes and finding them completely empty. After a few minutes though, he passed an alley and heard a rustling. He approached the noise hesitantly, a little girl behind a dumpster coming into view. There was a ragged teddy bear next to her. She was hunched over and her face was hidden by her matted hair.

"Little girl?" Dean asked as he got closer to her. "Little girl?"

She didn't respond.

"Are you hurt?" he continued to prod at her.

Still, the little girl didn't budge as he neared her.

"You know this not talking thing is kinda creepy, right?" Dean asked her with a nervous chuckle.

Finally, she looked up, and Dean immediately knew something was very wrong. Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth and red veins stood out brightly against the whites of her eyes. She lunged at him with a shard of glass she'd keep hidden, and his instincts kicked in. He shot her in the head quickly after pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans. A little out of breath, he looked ahead of him at the wall at the end of the alley. A piece of graffiti stood out in large, jagged black letters against the red brick of the wall: CROATOAN.

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered. And on cue, a large group of infected people (more zombies at this point) emerged from the other end of the alley, Dean turning to look at them when he heard their quickening footsteps. He broke out in a sprint, looking back every few seconds. Eventually, he came to a chain-link fence, having to assess the situation quickly as deciding not to scale it, instead retreating down another side alley, just as gunfire broke out behind him.

The gunfire was not like his own would sound. He knew immediately they were machine guns. He hid behind a building in the alley, glancing around the corner to see several men in a military-grade vehicle with an array of weapons, shooting down the last of the infected people. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He hadn't seen the demonic virus, Croatoan, since before he was with Melissa. Back when Sam was still having his visions, and it had been one bad mother even back then.

. . .

Hours passed before the gunfire stopped, and Dean finally knew it was time to break through the fence and get to work finding a familiar face. Melissa, for starters. His phone had no signal, and he saw nothing familiar around him. Everything was different in this desolate state. On the other side of the fence he found a sign labeling the area.

It read:

CROATOAN VIRUS

HOT ZONE

NO ENTRY

BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND

AUGUST 1, 2014

KANSAS CITY

Dean furrowed his brows at the date, feeling that odd, lost time feeling he did when he came back from hell. After about a half-mile of walking, he found an old car that had some fuel left in it, and it didn't take long to hotwire. It started to drizzle a little in the dark air as he made his way to Bobby's. There were countless cars abandoned on the sides of the road, but few active vehicles passed him. The radio produced only static.

"'Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia,'" Zachariah popped into the passenger seat with a newspaper in hand. Dean jumped a little.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this _Back to the Future_ crap," Dean growled.

"'President Palin defends bombing in Houston,'" Zachariah continued to read, the ever-present smugness etched into his face. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports! Oh right, there are no more spots. Congress revoked the right to group assembly...what's left of Congress, at least. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me."

Dean rolled his eyes at the angel's constant monologuing. "How did you find me?"

"Afraid we had to make use of some unorthodox resources of late; human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image...been told to keep an eye out."

Dean sighed, remembering the man in the white button-up handing out religious pamphlets in front of the motel the night before. "Ugh, the bible freak outside the motel. He, what, dropped a dime on us?"

"Onward, Christian soldiers," Zachariah said, leaning back in the passenger seat.

"Okay, well," Dean began, running a hand down his face, "you had your jollies. Now, send me back, you son of a bitch."

"Oh we'll get you back...all in good time. We just want you to marinate a while," Zachariah told the hunter, his thin smile widening ominously.

"Marinate?" Dean asked.

"Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means your choices have consequences," Zachariah said hotly, seeming to grow aggravated all of a sudden. "This is what happens when you continue to say 'no' to Michael. Have a little look-see."

Dean sighed again. "Where's Melissa?"

"Oh, right. Don't worry," Zachariah told him, growing calm again. "She's on a little magical mystery tour of her own."

"Come agai-" Dean started to ask, but looked over to find the angel gone.

. . .

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. The tall man (who, much to Melissa's confusion, kept calling her by her middle name. No one had called her that since she was a teenager.) had taken the little boy to kindergarten, kissing her on the head and telling her to remember to call work and Susie's preschool and to keep ice on her ankle as he left. Luckily, the number for the preschool was on speed-dial in the flip-phone she guessed was hers. Inside it, she also found texts she guessed was with the tall man. There was a heart emoticon next to the his name in her contacts: Levi. Next was finding out where she worked. She had Susie on her hip, hobbling around as she looked for her purse. Eventually, she did, and inside her wallet found a business card. On it, she was a graphic designer. _Sorta like tattoos_ , she thought with a shrug. She suspected it was enough to pay the bills for their modest three-bedroom.

Of all the places she expected she would end up, upstate New York was not the place. But here she was, where she had two kids with a paralegal who had a Maine accent. She didn't know what else to do, so she spent a while playing with Susie, feeding her, and putting her down for a nap. It reminded her of helping out with her mother when Rosie was small. Just as she was sitting down on the large blue couch in the living room, the baby asleep upstairs, Zachariah appeared in front of her.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, startled, pausing then for a moment to hear for crying or a call for her upstairs. Luckily, it stayed quiet.

"It's a wonderful life out here, isn't it, Miss Lowry? Still not into the marriage in this timeline, huh?" the angel asked with a smirk.

Melissa jumped up, watching Zachariah back away slightly as she advanced on him. "What is this? Where's Dean?"

"Temper, temper," Zachariah tsked. "This is the life you've wished for. The life you would've had if you weren't chosen. If you weren't Dean's soulmate."

For a moment, she just stared at him in disbelief. Then, she came to her senses. Somehow, it was a trick.

"Where's Dean?" she demanded again.

"Dean's where he will be if you continue to rebel against us...if he doesn't say 'yes.' Since you're not exactly as helpful in that department as we'd hoped you'd be, we're doing a little influencing ourselves. He's not in this universe, so don't bother trying to find him. He's somewhere similar, but still wildly different. A universe where he's loved and lost you."

"Send me. The hell. Back."

Zachariah shook his head a little with a chuckle. "Patience. One day in your little paradise, then one day with the consequences."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, the fire growing in her eyes as she backed him against the wall near the small television.

"Today is today. Tomorrow? Five years from now. Just look where this life lands you. And for now? I think someone's calling you," Zachariah pointed at the cellphone on the end table, vibrating now as a name Melissa couldn't read at that distance flashed across the screen.

"What-" she started as she turned back around, but found no one in the angel's place. She sighed heavily in frustration, and grabbed her phone harshly.

She froze for a moment when she saw the name: Rosie. No, it couldn't be the same. It was just some new friend in this weird world with the same name.

"Hello?" she asked tentatively.

"Hey, Lissa. You on your lunch break now?" came the voice that could only belong to Melissa's little sister through the line.

Melissa had to take the phone away from her ear for a moment, sniffing and clearing her throat. She tried to blink the tears away from her eyes as she spoke again. "Um, no, actually...I uh...stayed home today."

"Oh, no. Are you alright?"

Melissa smiled and laughed. "Yeah, yeah. More than okay, Rosie. Um...I just busted my ankle a little this morning and uh-Levi wanted me to take it easy. Hanging out with Susie and stuff…"

"Were you sleepwalking again?" Rosie asked, and Melissa marveled at how much older she sounded. But she would recognize Rosie's voice anywhere, at any age.

"I was. Don't worry, though, it's not too bad."

"Well," Rosie began, "I had a morning class today. Why don't I bring over some takeout for lunch? For that Italian place we went to for Levi's birthday?"

"That'd be great!"

. . .

Susie was still asleep an hour later when the knock came at the door. Melissa had been on the couch dozing, not really paying attention to the news that was on. It was already half past one, and she couldn't remember the last day she'd had when time had gone by so quickly and so peacefully. Here, getting through the day wasn't like pulling teeth, and she wasn't part of something that would affect the fate of the entire world. Here, she was lighter.

When she answered the door, she didn't know what she'd been expecting to see or feel. Sure, she'd spent about fifteen minutes after the phone call crying with joy, but after that she'd decided to keep the anxious butterflies in her stomach at bay by focusing on other things. She'd gotten dressed. Really. In an actual dress. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn one of those. The simple, casual green number was a far cry from her usual henley and ragged blue jeans. She'd even done her hair and a little makeup. Things normal people did every morning.

But she had never felt anything before like she did when she opened the door. There stood Rosie, a shadow of the little girl Melissa had last seen at a funeral, with lips blue and eyes shut. Now, she was tall. Taller than Melissa, with her same olive skin and dark eyes. Her hair was dark and curly, but short now. Her face and eyes were bright. Melissa immediately enveloped her in a strong hug, not even allowing an exchange of words in favor of physical contact. Rosie nearly dropped the grocery bag of takeout boxes she was holding with the force of the hug.

"Um...okay," the younger sister said.

"I missed you," Melissa explained, her eyes closed as her arms were still wrapped around Rosie's neck.

Rosie chukled warmly and pulled away from her big sister with a slightly confused look. "I saw you last weekend?"

"Still," Melissa insisted, trying to fight the mistiness in her eyes.

Rosie's face softened as she pushed her bangs out of her face. "It was your nightmare, wasn't it? The one that made you sleepwalk? I have them too, sometimes. About Maine...and about the wreck."

Melissa sighed. "I know. Sorry. Let's not talk about that. The baby's still asleep, so um...let's eat while we still have both hands free."

. . .

She laid awake all night, but she didn't mind. Having gone to bed early, telling Levi she didn't feel well, she'd had plenty of time to think everything over. How it felt to be there. Part of her was overjoyed, her heart so full she almost couldn't breathe. But, another part of her, one that she couldn't ignore though she was trying to force it down, felt out of place. No matter how much she liked being surrounded by them or how good it felt to just be a little, insignificant civilian…she didn't belong in that universe. At several points throughout the day, she found herself growing tense, feeling something missing. As though she needed something to stave off the adrenaline that was overloading her system. And that wasn't her boyfriend, and those weren't her kids. She didn't know how to act or what to say, and it wasn't coming as naturally as she'd hoped.

Dean had told her once about being kidnaped by a djinn and transported into a universe where his mother had never died, and he had never been a hunter. She remembered him saying how some things simply felt off to him. How he and Sam weren't remotely close, and his father was still dead. Now, she finally understood. The whole reason she'd gone to bed at seven o'clock in the first place was that Levi had kept trying to kiss her, and she didn't know what to do. She felt like she was cheating, both on Dean and on the version of herself that truly belonged in that universe. Put frankly, she missed Dean. She missed the feeling she felt only when she was with him, as though time could lay down and be still for them. As though they were invincible.

But seeing Rosie made up for all the thoughts she had mixed up inside her head. Seeing her made everything feel clear, like the world had come full circle just for her. Still, her parents and brothers had died in that car cash, and still they'd endured their vicious aunt and uncle in Maine, but she had survived. Melissa had been there to protect her when she should have, and now the little girl she once knew was studying theater at Ithaca College and loving life in her first apartment.

Zachariah's words gnawed at her mind, staring out that same window she'd woken up to with the moonlight pooling around her. What was to come tomorrow in this (nearly) perfect little world?

. . .

A visit to Bobby's had led Dean to a mysterious place called Camp Chitaqua, a sign for which he found in a photo of himself, Bobby, Cas, and Melissa. He hadn't found Bobby of course, only the ominous scene of a wheelchair with bloody bullet holes in the back, but Dean was trying not to think about it as he drove up to the Camp in the hotwired car. The first sight he came upon horrified him. His Impala, his baby, unused and driven into a state of disrepair. He gaped at it as he walked up to the gate of the Camp after parking his car nearby.

"Oh, Baby, what did they do to you?" he lamented quietly, running his hands along the Impala's weathered exterior.

A sudden blow to the back of the head caused spots in his vision, and the whole, desolate world went dark to him as his head hit the dirty ground with a _thwack_.

. . .

When he came to, his head was throbbing, and he was handcuffed to a pole in some messy, wooden cabin. His vision was blurry around the edges for a moment, but then, before him, he saw himself sitting in a kitchen chair near a rickety dining table cleaning a shotgun. Himself in an army jacket, with his own face looking more careworn than he'd ever seen it.

"What the hell?" Dean spoke his thoughts out loud from his spot on the floor.

"I should be asking you the same question, don't you think?" what he assumed was the 2014 version of Dean snarked with a mocking calm in his gravelly voice. "In fact, give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"

"Because you'd only be hurting yourself," Dean said back smartly.

"Very funny," 2014 Dean deadpanned, only now looking up from his gun.

"Look, man, I'm no demon or shapeshifter or anything, okay?" Dean argued with himself (?) tiredly, noticing the old, mothball smell of the air, wherever he was. It smelled like death.

"Yeah, I know. I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water...nothing," 2014 Dean said, shrugging in frustration with a crease forming between his brows as he continued. "But you know what was funny? Was that you had every lockpick, switchblade, and box cutter that I carry. Mind explaining that? Oh, and maybe the resemblance while you're at it?"

Dean sighed to himself. He knew there was a reason every part of him, apart from his head, felt lighter. He'd been picked clean of all his tools.

"Zachariah," he said simply, knowing that would be enough of an explanation for himself.

A dark look passed across 2014 Dean's eyes and he stood up after setting his gun down. He stalked over to his younger self, the floor creaking beneath him as he went. "Come again?" he asked.

"I'm you from the tail end of 2009," Dean told himself. "Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."

"Where is he?" 2014 Dean asked instantly. "I wanna talk to him."

"I don't know," Dean admitted.

"Oh, you don't know," his older self admonished him, beginning to pace angrily.

"No, I don't know," Dean shot back defensively. "I just wanna get back to my own friggin' year, alright?!"

"Okay," 2014 Dean shrugged, continuing to pace. "If you're me, tell me something only I would know."

Dean searched his mind for a moment, for those private moments locked away in a small box in his head. He didn't get many these days. Then, he got ahold of an image, and he smirked. "First night with Melissa. We were so nervous and shaking so bad, she had to help us take our shirt off. And you know what? We loved it."

For a moment, 2014 Dean's face was unreadable, and he looked away from his younger self, clearing his throat. But then, he turned back, pacing more. It was starting to give Dean a headache to watch himself walk like that. "Touché," the older Dean said quietly, his voice gaining confidence as he continued. "So what, Zach zapped you out here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess," Dean said. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

2014 Dean nodded and sighed. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."

The older Dean went over and started packing things up in a duffel bag on the large table then, not meeting his younger self's eyes as the conversation went on.

"What about Sam?" Dean asked the man who looked like him but didn't seem like him. Something in his eyes seemed dead and gone. 2014 Dean froze in his motions for a moment before keeping on.

"Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."

Dean furrowed his brows in pain and confusion. "We weren't with him?"

"No, no. Me and Sam? We haven't talked in...hell, five years. We had other people to worry about," the older Dean said earnestly, zipping up the weapons in the bag.

Dean's chest was heavy with the knowledge of Sam's death. As with Bobby, though, he pushed it out of his brain for now. It wasn't his time, after all. "Speaking of," he went on "is Melissa around here somewhere?"

2014 Dean got that unreadable look again, that look like he had nothing left in him. "Melissa's gone," he said hollowly.

Not letting those words really reach his understanding, Dean narrowed his eyes at himself. "What? Do you mean... _gone_?"

Turning his attention away from the bag and to his younger self again, 2014 Dean nodded, his eyes dark. "About a year ago...we were out saving a stranded group in Colorado. I told her not to...she used herself as bait when the rest of us went in to get the civilians. They bled on her...we had to take her out."

Dean's eyes widened in hurt realization, knowing what his older self meant by the tone in his voice. " _Who_ took her out?"

2014 Dean didn't reply, and that was enough to cause Dean to explode, even from his place on the floor in handcuffs. He stood up, his back having to stay against the pole from the short length of the cuffs that bound both hands behind his back.

"You son of a bitch! How could you do that to her?!"

Suddenly, 2014 Dean lunged forward, bringing a forearm straight against his younger self's neck, robbing him of his air and silencing him for a moment.

"You don't say another word about her. She is off limits here, alright?" 2014 Dean warned viciously, stepping away with a final, harsh push to his other self's throat.

As he stepped away, he heard himself coughing as the air came back. After collecting himself, he faced himself again, almost nose to nose, knowing that his younger self would need a little more explanation or else he wouldn't stop asking. And in that case he would just have to kill himself out of rage, time warp or not. Melissa talk was not allowed in the Camp.

The younger Dean still shook his head angrily, but didn't quite have enough air yet to keep yelling. 2014 Dean really could knock the wind out of someone. His older self spoke the next words in a grave tone, with a cold, dead luster in his green eyes.

"She begged me. She was already feeling it by the time we got back to the bus. And she couldn't do it herself; the virus wouldn't let her."

He got a little closer, his breath hot on his younger self's face.

"She was crying. And she _begged_ me."

 **Author's note:** Let me tell you, it is hard to figure out the wording for a scene with the same character from two different time periods. But, I hope it made sense and I hope you enjoyed it! I'll try to get the next half of the chapter up soon. Thanks for reading!

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ (who gave me some great ideas for down the road, which you will definitely be seeing some of :)), and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your wonderful reviews! I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter, since it's a little more off the rails of the main episode than normal. Anyway, thank you so much!

PLEASE let me know what you thought with a review down below! Thank you again for reading!

Peace and love.


	60. Chapter Twenty-Four: Part Two

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Rosie"** by The Kooks

\- " **Like Real People Do"** by Hozier

\- " **Are You Experienced?"** by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

\- " **7"** by Catfish and The Bottlemen

 **Chapter Twenty-Four** **:** Part Two

Upon waking, she was somewhere else. Immediately, she knew something was off. Well, even _more_ off than the previous morning. The air tasted like smoke and was burning her eyes even before she opened them. The floor she'd been sleeping on had a rough carpet and the walls were splattered with blood in a helter-skelter pattern. But she could still recognize it as the living room of the small house her alternate universe family (or whatever she could call them) had been living in. After a moment, she found Rosie sleeping on the sofa across the room from her. The TV was broken, and the glass of the coffee table looked like it had been long ago smashed and cleared away.

Coming to stand, she found herself dressed in dirty jeans, and for a fleeting moment she thought she was back home. But, she had to remind herself it wasn't a dream, and Rosie was sound asleep in the same room as her. She had known something was coming from Zachariah's warning, but it was taking a moment for her to get her bearings. She hadn't expected to still be in this house, and she sure as hell hadn't expected to still be with Rosie. She wandered upstairs to the bedrooms, but found them all empty.

Venturing back downstairs and out the door, she saw most of the other houses on the lower-middle class street were in the same shape as her own, on the verge of crumbling. Picking up a yellowing newspaper from the side of the walkway, she found the date, or at least one she suspected was close to now, though she figured it was much too warm out to be February. Nonetheless, it was 2014, and she couldn't figure what had happened in the last five years in this world. All she knew, the Prince of Darkness probably had a role.

All the headlines were about something called the Croatoan virus. She knew she had heard it before, though it took a moment before the realization came to her. A story Dean had told her involving demonic germ warfare that Sam was oddly immune to, back when they were still trying to learn what the visions were. She sighed. This was heading nowhere good.

She went and shook Rosie by the shoulder, watching the morning light streak over her face in the dusty air. She saw nothing actively on fire, but couldn't help but feeling something close by was smoldering. That dust she thought she saw was ash.

"Rosie, wake the hell up," she demanded, ready to be out of this hellhole and back to the boys.

Slowly, her sister's eyes opened, looking much older than the day before. "What?"

"Where's the kids...and Levi?"

Rosie sighed, turning over on the couch. "Not this shit again."

Melissa ripped the stained comforter off the woman she still saw as the little girl who had left her behind all those years ago. "Get up!"

Rolling her eyes, Rosie get off the charred couch. "Still sleep-walkin'?"

Melissa narrowed her eyes and smirked wickedly. "I'm wide awake."

. . .

The heat of the day was baking down on them by the time they reached the small grocery store. Non-perishables: that was the ticket. On the walk over, from the way Rosie was talking, Melissa didn't take long to gather that the kids and Levi had met a rather unpleasant end. She didn't ask questions; she didn't want to know. Rosie shed no tears, expressed practically no emotion, so it seemed to have happened quite a while before. Though maybe that's just how people were these days.

They were stocking up in silence, filling old grocery bags strewn around the deserted store. Melissa was wishing she had her hunting boots on, and her leather jacket. They made her feel protected, as though she were wearing armor. Now, she had on a t-shirt and ragged converse. At least the blue jeans were the same. She felt lighter without her gun, her skin feverish and lacking the cool metal against her lower back. Frankly, she was feeling a little wild. Rosie said she hadn't seen an infected someone in nearly eighteen months, but Melissa knew there was a reason Zachariah had planted her there on that particular day.

As they walked back through the little town square, Melissa was mulling over all Dean had told her about the virus in her mind. She remembered something about a shot, maybe a shot to the head, maybe nowhere specific, but it was her best chance. They passed a gun shop and Melissa wandered in without saying a word to Rosie, knowing she would catch on in a jiffy and not wanting to waste time before arming herself.

"What the hell, Lissa?" Rosie asked, storming into the gun shop after a few moments. Melissa was already behind the counter, loading a shot gun and getting ready to fill a pistol.

"You ever shot a gun, little sis?" Melissa spoke plainly, focused on the work in front of her.

"No...what...why?" Rosie tried to find her words. "What are you doing?"

" _We_ are loadin' up," Melissa informed her, cocking the shotgun loudly in the otherwise empty store.

"Woah!" Rosie exclaimed when the shotgun was readied. Backing up, she watched her sister with fearful eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

"Somethin's coming, Rosie," Melissa said almost with a smile, feeling a little antsy to kill a monster. "I can feel it."

Rosie scoffed. "Damn. Last time you saw one you almost let it take you. Granted, that was right after..."

Breathing out a slow breath, Melissa didn't look up. The pistol was ready. It was a heavy one, so she would take it. Rosie could have the small 38 she was currently working on.

"Which one of them was infected, again?"

Rolling her eyes, Rosie relaxed her demeanor a little. "Did you really block it out? Levi? Your boyfriend? The one who turned your kids? You know...before...the sheriff got to 'em. Jesus, sometimes I think you're sleepewalking all day."

Melissa closed her eyes. "Why are you such a brat these days?"

Rosie's face fell, realizing what she had said. "I'm...I'm sorry, Melissa...just the way you usually talk about them...I thought we were still on anger...not at grief."

Melissa shrugged. "Well, I guess I'm there now. No worries, ain't no time for sadness when the world's fallin' apart."

After a little bit of awkward silence, Melissa threw the small handgun to her unsuspecting sister. She caught it, but looked down with horrified eyes.

"Safety's on, honey. Don't worry. I'll show you how to use it," Melissa said as she put the pistol in its usual spot in her waistband and started to carry the shotgun out of the store. Rosie remained immobile for a minute before following the leader.

"What about the whole 'defense is the best offense' motto you've had for the last _three years_?" Rosie asked, struggling to keep up.

Melissa smirked. "The times they are a-changin,' m'dear."

. . .

Sunlight was waning behind the horizon, and still, there was no threat in sight. It was making Melissa's stomach brew with nerves. She sat on the ragged couch next to her sister, her elbows on her knees and the shotgun in her hands. Cicadas were humming outside, but the air was slightly chilly. It made Melissa miss the South. But, she missed Dean and Sam more.

"Where did you learn all this stuff about guns...and everything?" Rosie asked hesitantly. She hadn't spoken much, mostly just casting her older sister fearful glances.

Before, she'd been about as pacifist as they come, especially with the virus and everything. Even after the town had basically rebelled and killed her family, Melissa had just boarded up the house, stocked up on food, and made them live like hermits. Better to lie low than to fight. Rosie had agreed. The town had its reasons; the kids and Levi were infected after all, and even then it was all the world was fighting against: the virus. And, slowly, the world had disappeared around them while they stayed behind in that little house. Just the two of them again, like old times. It was only six months before that they had begun running out of supplies and going to the store.

But today, she was a whole different person. Sure, Melissa could be aggressive at times, but Rosie'd never known her to be violent. Paranoid, on the other hand, she was sure everyone was like that these days.

"Hmmm," Melissa said, thinking it over. "In a past life."

Rosie chuckled.

Melissa gave her a pointed look. "No, really."

The younger Lowry sister was about to respond when a clattering sounded outside. Melissa rushed over to the window and peered outside, only to see a group of live ones knocking over the large metal garbage cans that lined the street next to each mailbox.

"Okay," she said, tuning back to her baby sister, all business now. "Just shoot like I taught you, alright? I'll take the lead. Don't waste bullets unless you need to. In fact, don't even go out there unless I'm on the ground...got it?"

She watched Rosie's eyes cloud over with a shine of tears as she tried to nod bravely. Melissa's face softened and she gave Rosie a quick peck on the forehead before taking her by the shoulders with an earnest look.

"It'll be fine, Rosemary, okay?" she said. "I'm right here. I promise."

Nodding again, Rosie sniffed and tried to smile. "I love you, Lissa."

"Love you back," Melissa said quickly before finally turning around and throwing the door open.

She ran down the walkway as all the infected people looked at her. There must've been around twenty of them, but her hand was steady as she fired the first shots. Both to the head...only about eighteen more to go. By the time she'd reached the culdesac, they were starting to swarm her. Next, there was a blur of blood and some shouting. At some point, she ditched the shotgun and went for the pistol, firing off as many as she could.

Having not fought this many monsters alone in a while, things were just flashing before her. She was panting and sweaty by the time the smoke cleared, but a small smile crept on her face as she turned slowly, seeing she'd taken all those sons of bitches down. It felt good to win one, and she thought she hadn't heard Rosie come out of the house, but her face fell immediately when her eyes landed on the walkway. Rosie was on her knees, her collarbone bloody, and her face pale. One man laid dead before her, a bullet in his chest.

Rosie swallowed thickly, then shook her head as she looked up at her sister. It was then that Melissa noticed the shard of ceramic in the dead man's hand.

"H-he must've got it from the trash...he just….I was trying to help…" she said slowly, her voice shaking.

"No, no, no…" Melissa muttered to herself as she rushed over to her sister, involuntarily clutching at the base of her neck for a locket that wasn't there. In this universe, Rosie was still wearing it. She took her younger sister in her arms and hugged her harder than she ever had.

"It's okay, sweetie, it's fine. We'll figure this out…"

Suddenly, Rosie pushed her older sister off and got up, wiping at her nose and trying not to cry. "Melissa. Shoot me."

Melissa's eyes widened and she took a step forward, trying to take her sister in her arms again. And again, Rosie pushed her off.

"Shoot me!" Rosie yelled, blood oozing further down her blouse.

"Fuck no!" Melissa shouted back.

"Do it! Do it right fucking now, or I will never forgive you!" Rosie warned, shakily picking up the gun next to her. She shut her eyes as a shooting pain shocked her mind and then radiated down her spine, dropping the gun as she felt a sudden, shattering rage quickly run through her. "It hurts, Lissa! Don't let me turn...please!"

By now, Melissa felt hot tears running down her cheeks and was holding back audible sobs. She could see it; it was quick, the way the virus was already running through her sister's blood. And she knew. She had to do it. She couldn't let her baby sister die a monster. It would be an insult. She blew out a breath and raised her gun, looking at her beautiful little sister writh in agony as she slowly turned.

"Okay. I'll do this...for _you_ , Rosie. I always tried to do it for you…" she said through her tears, nearly breathless.

She laid her finger over the trigger, closing her eyes and feeling something inside her break. Something that had already been broken. But then, as she was about to shatter her own world as she had before, she felt a rush of air and a loss of all breath. Opening her eyes, she found Castiel standing before her.

. . .

For a moment, she just stared, her gun still held in the air with a trembling hand. It was a starry road somewhere that smelled like rain on pavement. She wasn't in Ithaca...and Rosie was gone. It was just Cas. With his regular, calculating blue eyes that were actually starting to grow on her. The air was warm and inviting, and she almost wanted to melt away into it.

"Damn...where'd you come from?" she heard a gruff voice ask from behind her. Dean.

Slowly, and almost robotic in her movements, she lowered her gun. Then, she dropped it on the ground beside her. She didn't turn around. "You don't wanna know."

She swallowed and found her throat sore from her cries. It was then that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the throbbing ache in her ankle came back. She hadn't noticed it much in the other world, not even when they were walking into town. Maybe there was too much going on; she'd had to block it out. The ache in her head, and the ache in her eyes. She felt utterly exhausted, and waited for a moment to gather herself before looking up to Cas with a sniff.

"How did you do that?" she asked. "I thought your mojo was drained."

"My healing abilities have been impacted the most, but powers involving travel are much simpler," the angel told her stoically, still standing very close to her.

"Oh...obviously…" she said sarcastically, looking up for a minute at the street light above them. Then, without thinking, she took the angel in a hug. "Thank you."

Castiel cleared his throat and gave Dean a slightly panicked look, keeping his arms at his side. "Melissa...I don't know how to handle this situation."

Quickly, she pulled away from him and cleared her throat, a blush coming to her cheeks at her exhibition of emotion. She almost felt like smiling at the smell of the fir trees in the air on the lonely road; it looked to be about seven in the morning or so. Then, it clicked. The night in the motel, Cas had called. They had an appointment to talk about the Colt, only after they could sleep. It took her a moment, but she finally turned on her heel, attacking Dean with a hug. He closed his eyes as he captured her in his arms, making sure she was really there. Still, he couldn't wrap his head around _any_ version of himself ever killing her. They stood like that for some seconds, but Melissa pulled away and cleared her throat. Dean caught sight of a mistiness in her eyes, but knew she wouldn't want him to ask about it in front of Cas.

She kept a hand against his chest, standing an arms-length away from him. He looked about as wrecked as she felt. "Zachariah?"

"Yeah," he replied solemnly.

"Did he um...did he make you kill somebody?"

His eyes widened. Did she know? Should she know? "Not me, really. But me...in the future. Yeah, I had to kill...someone. You?"

She nodded, her eyes dark. But she didn't say anything more.

. . .

If there was one thing that made Dean nervous, it was when Melissa bit her nails. She hardly ever did it, only when there was something really heavy weighing on her. He'd prodded; he had really tried. But he could hardly get a thing out of her about where she'd been, who she'd killed. Instead, he'd ended up talking her ear off about where he'd been, in hopes of coaxing her into it. They were on their way to meet Sam, and then go on back to Bobby's to get a few things straight. The biggest takeaway he'd gotten on his wild and wacky vacation? If he and Sam didn't stay fighting together, Sam would say yes. Become Lucifer. Dean stomach did flips as he spoke to her about it: watching Lucifer speak through Sam. A douchebag in a suit of white. He would do anything to avoid that. Sammy deserved more. And if anything meant letting him back into the game? Dean was going to do just that.

"It was Detroit?" Melissa asked, her eyes looking far off. Dean saw she was doing her best to stay engaged, but she was fidgety. She drummed her fingers against her knees and kept looking out wistfully over the open country roads.

"Yeah...somehow the big guy got him to say yes there," Dean nodded. He wanted to do something to keep her grounded. Put a hand on her thigh, intertwine their fingers, put an arm around her shoulders. Something to show her it was okay. She'd made it to the other side. But he was scared what might happened if he touched her in this state. Maybe she would explode.

"I feel like I've heard that before," she said slowly, tilting her head a little as she sifted through her vague memories. And her dreams. "About Detroit, I mean. It was always Detroit."

Dean looked over at her with furrowed brows, wondering why she spoke words that didn't sound like her own. But, she was back to biting her nails, looking out the window into the sunny midday.

. . .

Night had fallen by the time they arrived at Bobby's, none of them speaking much before going off to sleep. So much needed to be worked out. Melissa felt as though her head were going to explode. Hours after Dean had drifted off, his heavy arms wrapped around her protectively as they slept on that same old couch in Bobby's living room, she couldn't shut her thoughts off. To tell Dean, or not to tell Dean, that was the question. She knew from what Dean had told her that Zachariah's intimidations hadn't worked. Instead of being scared into saying 'yes,' he'd just been scared into taking Sam back, and at least beginning to try to let bygones be bygones.

But for Melissa, things were not so simple. Zachairah had been there to convince her into flipping sides, but in a place where she was alone. No other hunter in sight. No one to share the burden with. Maybe it wasn't even about getting her to kill Rosie or not, though it made her sick to know she was going to, perhaps it was about showing her what people like her would lose. People who were luckier. And if she could convince Dean to say yes, maybe they wouldn't _all_ become unlucky like her.

. . .

 _Back in church. Melissa thought maybe it was the Sistine Chapel or something, given its beauty. That was a place her mother had always wanted to visit. To see the ceiling. It was something Melissa had not quite understood as a child, her mother's fascination with art, but it all came together for her during her teenage years. At the tattoo shop, she learned how art could turn pain into beauty. That was the first thing she thought of when she became conscious of her surroundings: the Sistine Chapel._

" _No," she heard a voice she was becoming all too familiar with speak from the alter before her as she had been gazing at the stained glass windows like the last time she'd dreamt of them. Thankfully, this time the whispers were absent. She frowned as she turned back, her hands still clasped in prayer as she kneeled on the green velet rug beneath her, and was faced with Zachariah._

" _How did you get here?" she asked ruefully. "I'm warded."_

 _The angel smirked. "A subconscious can be found anywhere. It's the body that's the challenge. And you're what we'd call marked. You're even easier to find."_

 _She rolled her eyes and got up off her knees. "Rat bastard."_

" _Watch your mouth in here," Zachariah chided her smugly, gesturing to the pristine fascade around him. "And no, as I was saying, this is not the Sistine Chapel. It's what your mind imagines it to be. The ceiling is a bit off, I'm afraid."_

 _Melissa furrowed her brows and looked up. There were the angels she was familiar with, the ones she'd always seen in books. But they didn't cover the whole space. In a corner near the front, she a swirling portrait of a garden. There were hummingbirds and butterflies and marigolds and daisies._

" _Is that my mother's garden?" she asked near breathlessly._

" _It_ was _her own personal masterpiece," Zachariah confirmed with a shrug. He snapped his fingers loudly to get her attention again, his face growing stern. "Now, down to business. You know what will happen to all those people you try to save if you don't get Dean to say 'yes.' They'll be just like you. All of them. It rests on you now, Melissa Jane. Do your duty."_

. . .

The ring of the cellphone was what woke her up, but how that dream was going? She probably would have woken up shaky and sweaty soon anyway. She hadn't brought herself to open her eyes when Dean detangled one of his arms from her, reaching behind his head to the sidetable and picking the phone as it buzzed and rang.

"Hello?" he asked groggily, looking down at Melissa, who didn't seem quite awake yet.

" _I'm looking for Janie Lowry?_ " came a withered voice on the other end.

"One sec," Dean replied, shaking Melissa's shoulder a little. He was startled by the brightness of her shiny eyes when she finally opened them. It was hard to tell if there had been tears. Those damn dreams again was what Dean figured. "Missy, it's for you."

She sighed heavily against his chest and grabbed the phone from him. She slowly sat up. "Go back to sleep, Dean."

"Just come back soon," he whispered, already drifting off again. His hovering over the past few hours had confused her. Maybe it was because of the whole Sam/Lucifer thing? She couldn't tell. That had nothing to do with her, but since coming back from Kansas City he couldn't keep his hands or his eyes off her at any given moment.

She cleared her throat, walking back towards the kitchen with her phone and noticing Sam tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, though he didn't seem awake. He was glad to be back with them, she knew. But still, she would watch him like a hawk. One, he was probably rusty. Two? Once a junkie, always a junkie. That much she knew.

"Yeah?" she asked flatly as she answered the other line.

" _Is this Janie Lowry?_ " a man asked in a thick Southern accent. Melissa recognized it as Deep South.

"This is she," Melissa said, furrowing her brows at the nickname she was encountering far too often these days.

"It's George Davenport from Greenway," he told her. "I'm Jack Warren's representative. He died two hours ago. You're gonna need to get down here."

. . .

She gathered up her duffel quickly, throwing on her leather jacket and throwing her hair into a messy ponytail. The light was beginning to glow outside. If she drove straight through, she could get to Greenway by the next afternoon. Her palms were sweaty and her mind was swirling, but overall she was just exhausted. Lately, as much as she tried to get free of the past, it kept creeping back up on her. She sat down on the edge of the couch and brought a hand down Dean's arm. He stirred.

"Hey, Dean," she said softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"Who was on the phone?" he slurred, still somewhere between asleep and awake.

"I gotta go to Louisiana."

. . .

As the screen door slammed, Melissa winced. Hopefully, Sam was still asleep. She guessed different for Bobby. Orangey clouds filled the sky, and it made Melissa think of fire. Her cheeks burned as she raced across the junkyard, thinking of all those people who had owned the cars before they'd come there. She wondered how many people had died in those cars. She hobbled only slightly, as the swelling in her ankle had gone down a whole hell of a lot since Dean had wrapped it before bed. She'd managed to block out Dean's yelling before he grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around. She'd had a head start out of the house while he fumbled to pull on his jeans.

"Missy! What the hell!"

She blew the hair away from her forehead with frustration. "I told you. I gotta go to Louisiana!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's _all_ you told me. What's in Louisiana?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking around her. The vivid green of the vines that suffocated the particularly old cars, ones she'd remembered looking newer when she'd first come to stay nearly a decade among. She crossed her arms and looked down at the scuffed edges of her boots.

"Alright, fine. That tattoo shop I worked at? The guy who owned it, his name's...was Jack. He's been sick for a lotta years now. He's dead. His lawyer said he left some stuff to me and I gotta go there in person to get it, alright?" Her jaw was set tightly as he tried to read her.

His long lashes were especially visible in the morning light, and Melissa regarded him for a moment as he took a step away from her. Raising her eyebrows, she gave him an expectant look.

"Why don't we come with you?"

" _Why_?" she echoed. "Because you just got Sam back and Lucifer's breathin' down his damn neck. And now we gotta maybe find the Colt...you hold the fort down for a couple days. I just gotta take care of this and then I'll be back," she said, her voice reserved and cool. "Really. I'm not runnin,' alright? Call me if you need me and I'll answer."

He raised an eyebrow and his face was uneasy. "Promise?"

"I'm a woman of my word, Dean," Melissa said with a somewhat indifferent shrug.

He sighed, his brows furrowed. "Really, if you want us to come with...there's always time for us to take care of something for you...if you need us to."

Resting her hands on the nape of his neck, feeling the ends of his short hair, she looked at him with a determination he admired. She always was set in her ways. "This is just somethin' I gotta do on my own. Give me four days, alright? I'll call you all the time."

"I don't like it."

"Well, I don't give a damn."

Suddenly, he took her by the waist and kissed her harder than he had in a long time, fisting the leather of her jacket so hard his knuckles turned white. It surprised her at first, but soon she matched him, kissing him like it would be their last. He was out of breath when he pulled away, his cheeks flushed. She smirked at his blush, and took a step back to reposition her bag on her shoulder.

"You call _every_ night. At _least_. And by the fourth night you'll be back, right?" he asked, his eyebrows raised and his voice stern.

She chuckled at his protective side. "Yes, Dean," she told him in a mocking tone.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He rolled his eyes again. "And no getting into trouble, alright?"

She clicked her tongue, her smirk ever-present. "I'll try."

Bringing her in for a hug, he smiled affectionately. He tried to shake off the memories of 2014. He still didn't know if he should tell her how she met her end there, but hey, at least he would have four more days to decide. Lavender. That's what her hair smelled like. Her leather jacket still smelled a little like cigarettes, but he was glad it was really starting to wear off now.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, her tone sincere this time. She cleared her throat and gave him one more kiss, a quick peck on the forehead, before turning and walking in the direction of the truck, excited to listen to the mixtapes in there that couldn't fit in the Impala. Maybe they would take her mind off of what was waiting for her down south.

Dean watched her with longing eyes. Each time they were apart, it was harder and harder. The only time he truly felt comfortable living in his skin or breathing the air was when she was with him.

"Stay off that ankle, Missy!" he shouted after her. It occurred to him then that he'd forgotten to ask her why the man on the phone had called her by her middle name. A panic was settling in him, a worry and a sickness in his stomach he knew he would keep feeling until she came back and he could touch her again.

"Yes, mom!" she teased begrudgingly as she finally reached the truck. She looked back at him. Dean Winchester, standing like a man from a movie in the rising morning light. His hair was messy and his face was drawn in concern. Dean Winchester who had gone to hell and lived to tell the tale. Dean Winchester, who she was starting to believe would have to become Michael to save the world. But maybe, just maybe, if she could get away from him for a little while, she could purge those thoughts from her mind. Maybe she could find a way to kill the dreams.

"Love you!" he called after a moment of watching her watch him.

"Love you too, gorgeous," she said with a hint of a sad smile before getting in and cranking the old ignition, on her way to face another skelton in her closet.

 **Author's Note:** Well it's been quite awhile but I'm glad to be back! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Get ready for a "Melissa episode" or two coming up next. I'm super excited for you to see them!

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**Laura201112**_ , _**bjq**_ , _**Ladysunshine6**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your reviews! They're always so greatly appreaciated and I'd love to know what you think of this installment.

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought!

Peace and love.


	61. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **White Room"** by Cream

 **\- "Now Mary"** by The White Stripes

 **\- "Edge of Seventeen"** by Stevie Nicks

\- " **Mojo Pin"** by Jeff Buckley

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

Sun-baked and unsure of what to do next, Melissa sat at the head of the grave, running her hands over the cool, dark earth that had filled in the hole only a couple hours before. The sky was in flames in the west, but it was already grayish night in the east. Soon, the stars would come. Maybe she should have been sleeping, but she was too tired even to do that. Her tears had long since dried, both for Jack's passing and for the fact that only six people had shown up to the funeral. He had no family and was really only friends with his poker buddies. But to them, he had been good. They'd been busking out on the corner, and he had taken them in for a meal, her and Allen. And it just stuck. A man like that deserved more people at his funeral.

The lawyers never spoke plain, but from what she could understand, she was the only one left on the wheel. Jack's mother had died some years before, she couldn't remember how many. She'd only heard it through the grapevine, when she'd go to check in without being seen. It was easy for a hunter, to slip through a town every once in a while and see how someone was doing without ever laying eyes on them. The last time had been just before all the business with Dean going to hell. By then, Jack had been bad off. Pancreatic cancer. An old man covered in tattoos laid up in a hospital for months. According to the lawyer, he'd stopped treatment three months before his death.

She got the shop, and the house, and his mother's house over in Plainview. An old colonial, apparently. Melissa didn't know what to do with any of it. She'd have to ask Dean. And Sam. Sam would know what to do. The headstone had been made weeks earlier. It read:

 _Jack Warren_

 _Eternal Friend_

She liked it. It suited him. He was the kind of man who spoke plain, spoke his mind, and had so much to him. She hadn't realized until she rolled into town how much she missed him, and she felt guilty she hadn't been there. They hadn't seen each other in years, but he still left everything to her. She couldn't even dream of being a person as good as that.

"Been too long, huh?" she spoke finally into the silence of the evening, running her fingers along the shiny headstone. She hadn't said anything to him yet, mostly only receiving condolences from the preacher and the poker guys.

"Sometimes I don't feel like a real Southerner anymore," she said, her eyes growing misty again. She gave a sad chuckle and felt a little silly talking to a stone, but she kept on. "I know I up and left and let you handle the mess. I'm sorry, I just couldn't quite...I couldn't stay…"

Clearing her throat, she looked around and smoothed down her little black dress, one that would no doubt be ruined now as she sat in the dirt. It was warm and sticky in the air, and the little makeup she'd applied was smudged around her eyes.

"Why'd you do this? Why'd you leave it to me? You know it ain't mine to take, and you go and give it anyway...I just don't know what to do!" she finally let out a sob, wiping at her flushed face furiously. "There's no good way out."

. . .

She yawned and shivered, but she couldn't sleep. The air was still dusky, and the light outside was faded. She supposed she could have stayed in the house, but she couldn't face his belongings. According to the lawyer, it was all very clean and orderly. He'd made sure of that before he knew he was going to the hospital for the final time. Same went for the mother's house, or so she was told. She had yet to take off her funeral clothes, and laid on top of the scratchy motel covers. They all told her so much about what he had left behind, but she couldn't bring herself to go see in person.

Blowing out a shaky breath, she reached for her phone and dialed Dean. He picked up immediately.

"Hey darlin,' what's up?" he asked, his voice gravelly and strained, but not unpleasant.

She smiled. "Oh...nothing. I just had to hear your voice."

"Ditto," he replied warmly.

For a few moments, there was silence. Something more comfortable than Melissa could have imagined. It was almost as if he had a hand on her soul; she could feel him.

"How was it?" Dean asked hesitantly. She hadn't given him many details the night before, only calling to wish him sweet dreams. It was something she always did. She always had to say 'goodnight.' Even if it was just over text and even if one of them was on a hunt and couldn't reply. Dean didn't know where she'd gotten it from, maybe it was a southern thing, but he liked it.

"It was okay," she shrugged, turning over onto her back and staring up at the yellowy popcorn ceiling. She sniffed, then changed the subject. "Where are y'all?"

"Just outside Ohio, on our way back to Bobby's. Baby, I have got one hell of a story for you tomorrow. There was a pagan god called Leshii, and then I had to fight Paris Hilton because...well, I gotta tell you in person."

She sucked in a breath. "Actually, about that-"

"Dammit," he stopped her short.

"What?" she snapped.

"You always do this, Melissa. You go away for a couple days and then it ends up being months. What is it this time?" he asked impatiently.

She took a pause, and thought she heard Sam snoring in the background. It made her homesick.

"For your information, jackass, I got wind of a coven about a hundred miles outta New Orleans and I'd like to nip it in the bud before a whole group turns up dead," she shot back, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, lying through her teeth. She knew if she went back she'd have to decide about the angels, and she sure as hell wasn't ready for that. If she could just get hold of a couple cases, then she could clear her head.

"I don't feel good about this," he said.

She rolled her eyes at his protective nature, though she knew she loved it. "Well, good thing it ain't your choice then. We'll be able to cover more ground this way, alright? You keep hunting your Paris Hiltons with your sasquatch and I'll keep on with the witches. I'll still call you all the time."

He sighed heavily through the line. "I bet I can find you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bet your life?"

Hearing him clear his throat, Melissa could practically see his brow set in worry and frustration the way it got when he thought he was right. "Son of a bitch, Missy."

"There ya have it, then," she said, knowing she'd won, not that he could keep her from staying gone. They both knew from experience that if she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be found.

. . .

Somehow, she'd managed to dodge Dean's questions for three weeks. She knew this little vacation was going to come to an end sooner rather than later. Goddam, did she miss the unattachment. She'd managed to snag four or five cases along the way, one salt-n-burn, one that involved her going undercover for a week as a waitress (which was hell), two covens, and a rugaru. Today, though, today was personal. Everything about the case read werewolf. Hearts gone, all the bodies left a bloody mess. She could see her breath in a white cloud in front of her as she rushed out of her motel room that morning.

It had reached early October, a few days before her birthday. Dean was nagging her to get home in time so they could celebrate, but she had to keep telling him how much she hated the idea. After so many years alone, a birthday loses meaning. Every birthday she'd had with him, he'd tried, but she'd worn him down to only going out for a movie, and opening the few presents they gave her with their backs turned. Dean was surprised by her shyness about it, considering how outgoing she usually was. Compliments she was fine with, but gifts? She'd turn red as a tomato.

She whistled an old tune and flicked her keys around her fingers as she walked. Her boots crunched the gravel beneath her pleasingly, and inside she felt quiet, that normal rage blocked out. The silence she felt within her was odd. Dean was within an arm's reach, just a phone call away, but she had room to breathe. It made her heart heavy with guilt, and she would go back in a second if they truly needed her, but there was something about being alone at that particular point in time that calmed her so.

It wasn't like she didn't miss Dean. Each time she heard his voice but couldn't see his face her heart did a little twist, but she knew she would do damage if she went back, one way or the other. And it felt good to know that while they were out dealing with the apocalypse, she was doing something a little more instant. She was going to save a small town. It made her feel almost normal again. The last few months with the Winchesters had gotten a little too up close and personal for her taste, from her sister to the sight of the blood spreading down the insides of her thighs. Now, she could be shadowy. Rolling out of town as soon as she rolled in. It was refreshing.

The wheels were slow in the residential Pennsylvania town, and she stuck out a little like a sore thumb in her red truck rolling through the pristine suburbs. She was going to visit the fiance of the man who'd been killed first. Since then, two more runners had been found mauled on a trail off of the nearest park. It was true: something was lurking in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

. . .

Meeting with the fiancé was about as heart-wrenching as expected, watching her eyes get glassy and her voice get weak. But it was just as Melissa thought: the full moon. Next, her favorite. The police station. There was a witness to the most recent attack, the one that had happened a two nights before, and with a little help from Bobby she managed to get them to bring him down to the station again.

This time, she'd gone for heels in her fed get-up. They were sensible and black, but they were heels. She smirked as she listened to them clacking down the tiled hallway of the precinct. She brought her elbows to the front desk and gave a convincing smile to the young deputy. He seemed nice and shiny enough, with a nervous air and straight, white teeth.

"I'm here to question the witness in the Elixir case?" she said curtly, flashing him her badge. "Agent Garcia?"

The young man gave her a thin smile and told her to wait just a moment, before he walked back out with the sheriff. He was very tall and reminded her of the Coca-Cola Santa, but she let the association drift out of her mind when he spoke.

" _You're_ the agent?" he asked with disbelieving eyes and a slight quirk to his moustachio-ed smirk.

"Yes, sir," she said, walking over and trying to keep focus, not run her eyes over the dull beige interior and the uncomfortable wooden chairs a few people were waiting in. That's how you could tell it was a small town: the lobby for the police station looked like the waiting room at a dentist's office. "Agent Sherri Garcia."

She stuck out her hand for him to shake, and he took it gently, as though he thought she would break. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to calm her anger, giving him a rather firm shake in response.

Begrudgingly, he led her down a dark hallway to a room that looked like a study area at a public library. There was a large, dark-haired man with a hoodie on, his hands clasped before him on the table. He looked up when they walked in, and she noticed immediately the way his eyes were rimmed red. Pot.

"He's all yours," the sheriff offered flatly, then left the room.

Melissa didn't know whether to believe he was the monster or he was the witness, but her instinct always leaned towards bad cop.

She stood across from him with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised defiantly.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Jason Briggs," he replied, leaning back in his chair and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"How old are you?" she said, her tone even and calculating.

"Seventeen," he told her, not meeting her eyes.

She smirked and nodded a little at him, bringing her hands to the oak table in front of her and getting down to his level. "And what was seventeen-year-old Jason Briggs doing out in the forest behind Begley park at five in the morning on a Wednesday?"

He cleared her throat and finally looked at her with a shifty gaze. "Meeting friends."

"And what did you see out there, Briggs?" she continued, a sickly sweet air coating ice on her words.

"Just...it must've been a rabid dog…"

She smacked a hand down on the table. "Don't lie to me, kid! What the hell did you see out there?"

His eyes widened and he gave a startled jump. That's the moment she knew he was innocent. "There was a freaking vampire or something out there, alright?"

. . .

Vamp or not, she was impressed with the gruesome detail she'd managed to get out of the kid, and she felt sorry for him. He looked like Allen, too young for what he had on his mind, but his voice was more relaxed, more innocent. She had her leather jacket zipped up to her chin and she shivered as she sat on the cold, hard earth. Her eyes were glazed over and the moon shone above, dampened only by the few clouds. She could feel her heart in her throat. It was a night like this when she'd met Dean.

She dozed as she sat against a large pine tree, a few needles drifting down in the night breeze every now and again.

. . .

 _She hardly realized she had fallen asleep, everything around her looked so similar to the waking world. The air was chilly and the needles still fell, but everything looked a little whitewashed. Her movements were slow and watery as she turned her head to the left and to the right, and it was almost like she was drunk._

 _Before her, there stood a woman in a white nightgown. She had long, blonde hair and a kind, beautiful, hardened face. Melissa furrowed her brows as she recognized the woman. She'd seen her only in pictures a couple of times. Mary Winchester, a woman of myth if Melissa had ever seen one. She was tall and had a welcoming presence. There was a way about her that was inherently gentle, the way she walked over to Melissa and crouched down, pushing the young woman's dark hair away from her forehead with a willowy finger. Melissa felt the way she did when she would wake up and feel trapped in her body, the way she sometimes did after nightmares. She couldn't have crawled away if she wanted to._

" _Why?" was all she managed to croak out._

" _Melissa Lowry…" Mary said slowly, running her eyes over Melissa's wary face._

 _Struggling to find feeling in her limbs, Melissa cleared her throat harshly. "W-who are you?" She knew it had to be a trick; Zachariah or something else coming to screw with her. It still happened regularly, but it was rare they wouldn't just come out and start the sermon as themselves._

" _I've always wanted to talk with you," Mary continued, her voice still slightly dreamy and soothing. "Took me a lotta banging on in heaven to get to you. Now, I don't have a lotta time."_

 _Melissa gave a bitter laugh. "What? You been lookin' down on your boys?_ Sure. _Right."_

 _Mary rolled her eyes. "The don't lie when they say you're stubborn. I had help from a friend, alright? I just...I want you to know...you have to go back to them or-"_

. . .

A crack nearby woke her, cold sweat coating her body and making her shiver. Her stomach was in knots and the night felt eternal. But she had to shake it off, gripping the cold metal of her pistol. She jumped up, eyes towards the trail before her. There was a runner; she knew there would be. The local police had warned against jogging in the early hours of the morning, but she knew warnings only made people want to rebel more.

She looked like a nice enough lady. Blonde hair, long legs, all black workout clothes. She looked confident; confident enough to believe she was above being murdered. It made Melissa shake her head a little. Death waits for no man.

Sure enough, Melissa spotted a figure across the trail, hiding in the trees. She waited a moment, long enough for the runner to be out of sight but not long enough for the werewolf to go on the move again. In the moonlight, she could see it dimly. But she saw the green, sickly glow of its eyes and the glint of its teeth. The man didn't look a day over 25.

She raised her gun to shoot, but suddenly felt a ripping pain in her right side. She gasped and it took everything in her to stay standing, but she gathered her strength and turned to find a man looking almost identical to the one across the trail. She shot him in the head swiftly.

The twin (?) across the way charged her as soon as she turned. Claws out and teeth gnashing, he knocked her to the ground from her side, and her left knee caught most of the fall, but she managed to keep hold of her gun. Even as the werewolf clone dug his claw into her thigh, so far it broke off. He was distracted then, oddly enough over a broken nail. She managed to pop a silver cap in his ass. Well, his head.

Unfortunately, the civilian had seen the whole thing. And damn, could she scream.

. . .

The lobby may've looked like a dentist's office, but the cell looked like any other one she'd ever been in. The walls were cinderblock and the bars were a light gray, but after a few hours in there everything started to blend together. Her eyes were tired, but she couldn't sit down because of the way they'd handcuffed her to the bars. Mouthing off to the sheriff may not have been such a good idea, but dammit if that sexist dick didn't deserve every word.

She'd called Dean, but they were a state over. At least five, six hours. Maybe he would be soon, maybe he'd be what would feel like a lifetime longer. Luckily, they'd just finished a case, so it wouldn't take too long. She rested her head against the metal, singing some Stevie Nicks under her breath. It was hard to tell how much time had passed, she could only count the seconds by how many times her side throbbed. They'd bound her middle before taking her in, but she knew it would probably need stitches. Her knee and her thigh were arguably worse. She had told them they were minor injuries, hoping to get out of whatever she was into sooner. But she was doing her best to block it out. The Stevie Nicks was helping.

A now familiar screeching creak sounded through the small wing of holding cells and she brought her head up with a smirk.

"Back so soon, Andy Griffith?" she asked brightly as she squinted through the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"How do you put up with it?" she heard the sheriff ask. She furrowed her brows but gave a relieved sigh when she saw her two favorite imposters rounding the corner dressed in their cheap suits with the jolly old sheriff.

"We find ways," Dean said with a thin smile. The sheriff came over and uncuffed the tightly bound bracelets.

"Thank y' kindly," she gave a wide, wry grin.

The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just never set foot in my town again."

"Ha!" she barked as he opened the cell door. "Fat chance."

"Hey! You killed the Rydell boys!" the sheriff shouted, his face red with emotion.

She tilted her head a him a little, hobbling out of the cell with her hands on her hips. "Sheriff, those boys were the evilest twins I ever did see."

. . .

Dean threw the keys to the Impala down carelessly as they entered her motel room. There were clothes strewn all over the floor and newspaper articles littering the bed. It made Dean sigh. She'd never been anywhere near a neat freak. Sam had a worried crease set between his brows as he followed his brother silently, the duffel from the trunk that had the first aid kit slung over his shoulder. Melissa was last, her eyes tired as she bit at her nails and lingered awkwardly in the doorway. The fresh air felt nice on her fevered skin; she was soaking it up.

Throwing off his leather jacket, Dean slid the articles off the bed and gave Melissa a pointed look as he gestured to it. "Sit down."

She sighed, still leaning against the doorframe. "Dean, I know you're pissed-"

"Pissed don't even touch it, sweetheart," he said with a touch of bitterness, his eyes narrowing at her. "Just sit down."

Sam gave her a glance, looking decidedly uncomfortable, but seeming to urge her just to go along with it. Right now, she knew it wasn't such a good idea to push Dean father than he needed to be pushed. She trudged over, plopping down on the floral, surprisingly cozy bedspread. Dean brought her the bottle of whiskey that sat on the counter near the fridge.

"When I met you, you weren't a drinker," he told her as he handed her the bottle. Brushing the comment off, she handed it to Sam. He was a shitty stitch, but he worried Dean would be too rough and shaky in his current state, so he'd insisted.

"Where do you wanna start?" Sam asked gently, opening the little white box.

Again, she glanced at Dean. He leaned against the kitchen counter a little ways across the room. They weren't meeting eyes. She turned back to Sam and shrugged.

"Where do _you_ wanna, Florence Nightingale? Embedded claw or slashed side?" she asked lightly, trying to keep her mind off the dizziness.

After a moment of decision, Sam chose the side. It was likely losing the most blood. She nodded, gingerly taking off her now-ruined leather jacket (it was a pity; she'd had it for years). At the tank top, though, she struggled. It was slow-going, and every time she raised her arms past the bottom of her ribs she would hiss in pain and start over. Dean eventually sighed, coming over to help her.

She stopped him as his fingers met the hem. "Dean, I don't need your help."

"Like hell you don't," he replied, not even focusing on her voice as he slowly lifted the shirt.

His touch was feather-light as he slowly maneuvered her out of the fabric, cringing as he saw the rips and the bloodstains. She didn't protest any further.

"Ready?" Sam asked, feeling oddly invasive watching this moment between them. He looked to the thin gauze that had been wrapped tightly around her torso.

"As I'll ever be," she quipped, clearing her throat and leaning back on her elbows to give him room as he unraveled it. Dean stayed sitting beside her now, but she could still feel the frustration radiating off of him.

The younger Winchester held an upset look as he got to the final layers and found the ugly, red, bruised wounds beneath. Dean looked over as he saw Melissa squint her eyes shut, the skin pulling a little as the last layer of cloth was pulled away. Dean's eyes widened.

"Jesus, Melissa! _That's_ all the hospital did?" he broke the relative silence with an alarmed expression. Her skin looked remarkably inflamed and tender, not quite reaching so deep that she couldn't feel it anymore, but certainly not scratches.

She took a deep breath in and kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "I told you I pissed off the sheriff. I was wanted at the station for murder at the time, all they were trying to do was stop the bleeding. Which, sorta, they did."

Dean shook his head. "Maybe don't mouth off to the sheriff next time, genius."

"Shut up, Dean," she shot back, but not unkindly. She was too busy focusing on not crying to be sassy.

He paused, reaching an arm over her and placing a soft hand on the pink skin near the wounds. It was hot. She winced.

"Sorry, baby," he said immediately, pulling away and watching her more closely now.

"Dean, grab me a towel," Sam spoke up, assessing the three cuts. They'd started to ooze blood again, stretching all across her side, from the right side of her stomach to the edge of her back. None of them had gotten wounds quite so nasty in awhile.

When no one made moves, Sam asked again. "Dean?" he said. His brother looked up suddenly. "The towel?" Sam led him along, and he finally nodded and got up. Melissa still hadn't opened her eyes.

With a towel now in hand and Dean looking spooked, Sam put a hand on Melissa's shoulder. "Mel, I'm gonna put the towel underneath you and we're gonna disinfect this, alright?"

"Go for it, Rapunzel."

. . .

"Gimme that," Melissa ordered, straightening up as Sam finally finished her stitches and wrapped her middle again, gesturing to the liquor.

He handed it to her with his usual guilty look. She tipped it back and gulped down a few sips, coughing as she gave it back to him. It hadn't been too bad, actually. She'd had stitches before. It was the look of those tweezers that Sam was now wielding that bothered her. Dean put a hand on her back, not saying much but knowing how much a physical touch could calm her. He wasn't quite ready to build a bridge yet, but he could see how much pain she was in, and he had to help somehow.

"Next one," Sam said, his voice laced with dread. She sniffed a bit, pumping herself up before she stood and stripped off her also ruined jeans, leaving her now only in her bra and panties. Dean winced seeing the black and blue on her knee. It was swelling, and he knew it was the kind of injury that would hurt far more tomorrow. She felt embarrassed under Sam's eyes, though she knew he wasn't looking anywhere that wasn't bloody, and her stomach did flips even thinking about Dean.

Sam didn't warn her so well this time as he poured whiskey over her angry skin.

"Motherfucker!" she exclaimed, growling a little in pain before she could control herself again.

"Sorry, sorry! That part's over!" he assured her. She nodded and closed her eyes once more. As he slowly began digging the tweezers in, she gritted her teeth and did her best to keep her composure.

"Hold my damn hand, lover boy," she spoke firmly. Dean raised his eyebrows, but instantly went to grab her hand. She squeezed hard, trying to take her mind somewhere else. His shoulders got a little less heavy, knowing if he touched her she wouldn't shatter in his hands.

. . .

It was nearly two in the morning by the time she was all patched up. Ordering she stay in bed, Dean went over with Sam to grab another room, luckily snagging the one right next to Melissa's. He ran a face over his hand tiredly as he sat down on at the table across from his little brother, tugging nervously at his flannel sleeves and feeling antsy. Sam was rather quiet, not as mopey as he sometimes was, but just...inquisitive. Dean felt proud for thinking of the word, though he knew he probably didn't have the meaning exactly right. His mind was stirring around with dread and impatience, and he wanted to jump out of his skin. It had been a hell of a night.

He tapped his fingers on the dingy metal table for a moment in the stale air. "So…"

"Something's up with her, Dean," Sam said with finality, cutting the older Winchester off.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You think I don't know that?"

"No, Dean," Sam continued, raising his eyebrows as he voice grew grave. "Something is _really_ wrong. She was jokin' at the sheriff's station and all, but did you see her on the drive back? That look she got, man...she looked the way she did when you were in hell."

Jaw tensing, Dean got up and began to pace. Of course he could see it, and feel it. Her phone calls were short, though always sincere, and often vague. He figured her distant behavior was because of Jack Warren's death, but with Sam laying it out so plainly he couldn't deny it. It was like a piece of her was missing. Ever since she'd gotten back from 2014...or wherever she was. He didn't even know the time she'd been to. He felt utterly powerless, like there was no way he could reach her.

He sighed heavily. The night was uncommonly warm for this type of year, but he missed the crickets as he walked around the quiet motel room, his brother still brooding at the table. There were ugly floral curtains on the windows. He missed the days when the evening would stretch into the night, and things would be warm and calm. Sometimes, he and Melissa would drive out somewhere and just sit. Listen to Pink Floyd, of course. But the crickets or the cicadas were always a nice touch. It was like the way he loved the fourth of July; it struck a chord within him somewhere he couldn't quite understand.

Ever since 2014, things felt cold and off. Sure, he and Sam had had a few laughs. A few days ago, Bobby had even gotten in on the action when Dean had got himself into a card game that made him age beyond recognition. But Bobby was still adjusting to his life in the wheelchair, and acting emptier than the man Dean had once known. Sam seemed to be on the up and up at least a little, but with that kid you could never really tell. Overall, Dean had missed his amulet Cas borrowed to go look for God with, and he missed his Melissa. He missed the person he had met all those years ago in Colorado back when they barely ever used the word 'apocalypse.' He felt like he had taken a part of her he could never give back. And the guilt made him truly angry with himself, even if he was directing it towards her.

He exchanged a few more words with Sammy, but decided it would be best just to rest up and get her to Bobby's the next day. Hopefully a trip down memory lane might cheer her up. But, Dean did not expect to see what he found when he opened Melissa's motel door.

Her hair was messy under the large headphones, and her singing was messy to match between gulps from the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Some had been poured on her wounds, but Melissa looked like she'd managed to down an impressive amount in the forty-five minutes he'd been gone. She didn't see him at first. Her eyes were closed as slightly blackened tears rolled down her freckled cheeks, traces of her fed costume makeup still present. She swayed slowly to the music, stood at the edge of her bed. She wore only her black bra and panties still, though her middle was hidden under the bandages. Dean could tell by her movements how much he knee was bothering her already.

In a rush, he went over and grabbed her by the waist. It didn't seem like she was about to fall in that moment, but with that knee he was afraid of what could happen.

"Hey!" she yelled, a little slur tainting her anger. She shoved him away and put the headphones down around her neck. Dean recognized the voice of Jeff Buckley and thought it was no wonder she was crying.

"Lay down," he said gently, though his irritation was clear. "You're drunk."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm _sorry_ I'm such a drinker now, Winchester," she scoffed, brushing past him and going to lean against the small kitchen counter. "And I'm sorry you feel like you have to handle me this way, but guess what? I'm not a little kid, Dean. There. Your burden is lifted!"

She took another swig and he tried to grab the bottle but she fought against it. He bowed his head in defeat, anger boiling inside him.

"I never said you were a burden," he told her, his eyes roaming over her bruised body. She needed to get some goddamn sleep.

"Yeah, well, actions speak louder than words," she continued, shrugging angrily.

He tried again for the bottle.

"Fuck off, Winchester! You can't save me, and I can't save you...so just let me be!"

"Okay, that's it," Dean sighed. It took a minute more, but she finally relented and he pulled the liquor away from her. She stumbled a bit as she walked past him and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. She put her head in her hands, yawned, and shivered.

"Let me get you something to wear. You'll freeze," he scolded, a crease between his brows as he rummaged through her duffel.

"Get me your Metallica shirt," she grumbled, her head still in her hands. He furrowed his brows when he found it after another moment of rifling through.

"You had this the whole time?" he asked. "I was looking for this!"

"I'm nothing if not an excellent thief," she said tiredly, ripping off her headphones.

"I guess that's true," Dean replied, tossing the worn t-shirt her way and sitting at the table to unlace his boots.

She pulled the shirt clumsily over her head and flopped back on bed. "Y'know, I don't know why you're so pissed at me. I'm just tryin' to help you. But everywhere I go it gets worse."

He pulled off his jeans and came to lay down next to her, pulling her slowly up so that her head met the pillow. Her collarbone sported red patches and her eyes were glassy.

"We can talk about this in the morning, alright?" he told her, reaching over and turning out the light. The sky was a dusky purple and he knew it was nearly dawn already, but damn if he wouldn't try to sleep until at least mid-morning. But he also knew that was unlikely, to say the least.

"No matter where I fucking turn," she kept on, ignoring him as she put a hand on his stubbly cheek and gazed at him with half-lidded eyes. "Someone always tells me different...Zach, Cas, your mom, Rosie…"

He tilted his head at her. "What?"

"I just want to protect you," she said quietly, edging closer to him.

"Missy, what-" he began to ask, but found she had fallen asleep against him.

 **Author's Note:** Whoops. I was gone for a long time again. Sorry! Hope the length of this chapter makes up for it.

Special thanks goes to _**Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , _**Laura201112**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your lovely reviews on the last chapter and for sticking with me even though I'm absolutely horrible about timely updates right now! Hope y'all liked this one!

Thank you so much for reading!

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought about this little Melissa adventure! (There's a little more of solo Melissa to come, don't worry. ;))

Peace and love.


	62. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

 **\- "Should I Stay Or Should I Go?"** by The Clash

 **\- "Help"** by The Beatles

 **\- "Althea"** by The Grateful Dead

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

She woke up to the smell of toast, the kind just on the verge of burning. It was the way Dean liked it, but she thought it was too crunchy by that point. Her head wasn't the worst part of this hangover, it was her eyes. They stung the way they did when she fell asleep still crying. Ohio was one of her least favorite states, the way the air always smelled bland and a little like sawdust, but not the good kind. The toast, though, made waking up in that godawful state with stitches and bruises just a little better. She cleared her throat, sitting up and looking over at the alarm clock to see that it was a little past eight. Leaning her back against the headboard, she saw Dean with his back turn to her, shirtless with only his jeans on as he took the nearly blackened bread out of the toaster.

His face fell a little as he turned to find her awake. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," she replied tiredly, rubbing her eyes. There was a charged silence as he went over to the table, looking over a newspaper and brooding as he ate his toast. She took the hint, getting up slowly and bringing her feet to the ground. Seeming to feel nearly every nerve in her body, she pumped herself up to rise. She couldn't decide which part was the worst: her side, her thigh, or her knee. Upon getting up, she decided it was the knee.

It took effort for her not to audibly gasp as she walked over to her duffel, fishing around for the painkillers. She grimaced as she dry-swallowed three, the bitter taste of medicine coating her throat. She sighed, going over and pouring herself a cup of black coffee.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said quietly. Outside, she could see the parking lot bleached by early morning sunlight.

"You're gonna puke if you take pills on an empty stomach," he said dryly, not looking up from the obituaries.

Sighing again, she set her mug heavily down on the counter. "Well, that's my choice then, isn't it?"

He rustled his paper loudly as he closed it. "Do you wanna say something or am I reading the signs completely wrong?"

She smiled ruefully. "Do _you_ wanna say something, Dean?"

He matched her mocking smirk as he stood and walked near with his arms crossed over his chest, staring her down from the other side of the room. "If you'll let me."

She rolled her eyes. "You have the floor."

She made a lazy gesture to the air in front of her as she took another sip of the burnt coffee. She had to admit, her stomach was feeling upset, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Total honesty?" he asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Yes," she replied. "Total fucking…brutal honesty. Now spit it out, Winchester."

"Great," he said pointedly. "I'm tired of this weird twilight zone of hunting with us and not hunting with us bullshit. When you go out there alone, you get too excited, and then you get sloppy. And then sooner or later you'll get dead, Missy."

She scoffed. "God, you're such an ass. Dean, for the last goddam time, I know what the hell I'm doing. I did it for years before I met you."

"Yeah, _before_ you met me," he shot back, growing angrier now. There was a glint in his eyes she recognized from the last time she'd been gone awhile. She hated it. "Now, everything's different. You're not alone anymore, sweetheart. And you can't keep pretending like there's no one who depends on you!"

She tried to keep her calm but her cheeks were beginning to grow red with anger. "Did I not say that if you really needed me I would come back anytime?"

He ran a hand down his face. "You're not Bobby, Melissa. You can't just crawl back into your little space and keep quiet for awhile when we're out there up to our asses in hell juice! That's a damn cop out, and you know it!"

Since he'd escalated it to yelling, she figured she might as well go along. She slammed her mug down on the counter behind her again, leaning back to keep the pressure off her knee but doing best to put on a defiant stance.

"I'm tired of having this same argument!" she shouted back. "You don't own me, Dean! I can go wherever I please, whenever I please!"

"Dammit! I know!" he blurted out harshly, startling her a little, though she tried not to let it show. "That ain't the point! It's like you don't even want us!"

She stopped then, doing her best to keep everything at bay. Images of Zachariah and Rosie flashed through her mind. "Of course, I want you! Do you not see? That's why I had to...go away."

He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing! Only that if I stay around too long, things are gonna get fucked up and you don't want that! Take my advice, Dean."

"Fucking! Cop out!" he yelled back, the veins on his neck starting to stand out the way they did when he was ultra-pissed.

She didn't quite know how to explain it to him without messing everything up, so eventually she stopped worrying about the filter between her mouth and her mind and started letting it all roll out.

"Is it nice to live in a world where you're always right, Dean? Is it nice to be able to see everything right from wrong like it's black and white? I wish I could see it the way you do, but I can't!" she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes but sniffed and blinked them away discreetly. She only wanted him to see her angry mask at the moment.

"Alright, Missy! Let's go there, then! Is it nice in _your_ world where you can run off and get yourself hurt and not worry about anyone else? How is it to live in a world where you get to do reckless things all the damn time at the expense of the people around you?!"

She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "Fuck you, Dean. You have no idea why I do the things I do!"

"Then tell me, sweetheart! 'Cause I'm done with this runnin' away thing. You stay, or you go...and if you go, you stay gone!" he shouted. She blinked and swallowed harshly, weighing her options.

"I _can't_ tell you, alright?! Why is it that when you try to protect me, you get a medal, but when I try to protect you, I get thrown the hell out?!" she yelled, almost pleading.

He rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his head. "God, when are you gonna stop this mysterious, rogue hunter crap?! You've been doin' it since I met you, and it's been about as annoying every time you've pulled it since-"

He stopped short when Melissa quickly put the back of her hand to her mouth and rushed past him, shutting the door to the bathroom behind her with a loud _bang_ and locking it. Dean could hear her retching from the other side.

"I fucking told you, Missy," he grumbled, leaning on the door. Now, though, his tone was a little gentler. "Let me in."

"No," she replied simply in a watery voice through coughs and gags.

"C'mon, just open the damn door," he insisted.

"Fuck _off_ , Dean!" she nearly screamed, sounding the most angry she had been since the fight had started.

Dean sighed heavily. "Y'know what? Fine! I'll be back later!"

He quickly tugged on a t-shirt and grabbed his keys and boots before slamming the door to the motel room. The tips of his ears were red. He was seething. Of all the people he'd expected to shut him out this way, during this time, Melissa was the last one he would've guessed. She'd run away before, but she'd always come back. Now, she still wasn't there with him. Not really. He cranked the music as high as it would go, though he knew he ran the risk of damaging the Impala's speakers, and pealed out of the lot, trying his best not to glance in the rearview as he went.

. . .

The stitches were still fresh, but she had to shower, if nothing else. Water pressure wasn't even an issue to her this time around. All she wanted to feel was the heat. Steam billowed in the bathroom as she finally finished, gingerly wrapping a towel around herself before she redressed her wounds and put on fresh clothes. She opted to keep the Metallica t-shirt on, since it was loose and worn to the point of being soft. And it smelled like Dean. Though at the moment she didn't know if she wanted to keep him on or off her mind. One of her pairs of jeans had a relatively sizable rip down towards the bottom of the thigh where Sam had pulled the claw out of the night before. They weren't altogether comfortable, but they would do.

She sat on the bed for a little while, drumming her fingers nervously on her knees as she decided what her next move was. She slowly gulped down a glass of water to try and get the taste of bile that had yet to subside out of her mouth. She'd had to experience the one meal they'd given her in her cell all over again, and it was even more unpleasant the second time.

After a while though, she decided to swallow her pride. The metal of the motel's walkway was cold and damp under her feet, and she hesitated a moment before knocking on Sam's door. It was drizzling and chilly out, and it smelled like there would be a thunderstorm later. It took Sam a minute before opening the ramshackle door, and she saw the gun in his hand, though he hadn't pointed it in her face before seeing her as she expected him to. Maybe he was less jumpy than her.

"Hey," he said, looking slightly confused.

"Hi. Can I come in?" she asked.

He nodded, his face set with a kind of nervous energy. Sam's room was tidy and warm, nothing but a laptop and a few file folders stacked on the kitchen table. She looked around fondly.

"So...what's up?" he asked, sitting back down and opening the computer. Melissa took a seat on the end of his bed, trying her best not to let the pain show on her face as she bent her knee.

"Did you hear me and Dean?" she asked, her voice ragged but void of most emotion.

He sighed. "I didn't mean to."

She shrugged. "It's alright. We weren't exactly trying to avoid noise complaints."

Sam ran a hand down his face and tipped his chair back a little, looking up at the ceiling. He felt uncomfortable, they way you do when you're alone with someone you barely know for the first time and you feel like you have to make small talk. It made him sad to feel that way with Melissa.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She smiled an unconvincing smile. "Better. Thanks for the handiwork."

He shrugged. "Anytime."

Melissa decided she would keep talking, then. She wouldn't...hadn't with Sam in a long time. But she was getting sick of the silence. "I forgive you, y'know, for all of it," she said in a shy voice.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "I know."

"No, you don't," she shook her head, looking down at her thin hands in her lap, feeling her wet hair make a cold spot on her back. "I really mean it this time. I get it now. You were playing your part...like they made you."

Standing up and coming over to her, he tried to hide the alarm in his face. He sat down next to her, but kept a safe distance. There was something in her voice that he did not like one bit. "What do you mean?"

"They keep coming to me in my fucking dreams, Sam," she told him coldly, looking ahead now at some oddly modernist, cheap painting on the wall opposite her. "And they tell me that if I stay, I'll get Dean to say 'yes.' Or that I should _try_ to get him to say yes...because if I don't the entire world will end up like us or end up like Rosie. And then your mom showed up and I couldn't do it, Sam, I couldn't keep it all out of my head; they're all just going on and on all the time, and Lord knows I can't tell Dean about it because he'll jump outta his skin-"

"Woah, slow down," he interjected curtly. "So...my mom?"

She sighed, trying to get her bearings with everything mixed up in her head. "I saw her...I guess it was her. She looked just like the pictures. Maybe it was a dream, Sam...but she said I needed to come back to you, though she didn't have enough time to say why. Those werewolf bitches got in the way of that. It felt...it felt so real."

His mouth twitched the way it often did, and he thought about moving closer to her but decided against it. He took a moment to gaze at her withered form, the way she was slightly hunched over and how her knuckles turned white as she clutched the edge of the bed. Her breathing looked labored, but he knew that and her awkward sitting position were from the wounds. Speaking now, she seemed oddly emotionless, only drained.

"Okay...then why'd you stay away? Even if it _was_ a dream, Mel, you know that-"

"Because of Rosie," she cut him off.

"Rosie?" he asked and she nodded. "Your little sister, Rosie?"

"Yeah," she breathed, then got up with more than a little effort. She turned to lean against the wall, feeling the urge to pace but lacking the energy to commit to it. "How much did Dean tell you about 2014?"

Shrugging, Sam rubbed his hands together in thought. "Not too much. I know I said 'yes'...or something like that. Dean said it was a warzone out there all the time...no room to breathe. I think he mentioned something about Cas being on acid?"

Melissa snorted. "Wouldn't that be a sight?"

Sam gave her a fleeting smile. "Yeah."

"Did he tell you he had to kill someone?" she asked hollowly. "He hasn't told me who."

She was frightened by the darkness in Sam's eyes. "He told me."

She nodded and breathed in. The air smelled like progress, the way it often did around Sam. She had never met someone who changed the feel of the air the way Sam did. Maybe it was a law student thing.

"In my 2014...or whatever it was...I had to kill Rosie all over again. And Zachariah said everyone would turn out like me if I didn't get Dean to say 'yes.' That everyone would...have to kill...I guess?" she told him vaguely, her brows creased as she concentrated on keeping her emotions at bay. "And he kept comin' in my dreams because I'm 'marked.' I s'pose that's one thing Castiel can't undo. But I...I was worried I would fuck it all up if I came back...if I went either way."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "Mel...I don't know much, but I know that the only things that are worth doing are with people you love. Take it from me. You can't listen to all that other noise. It's just...family. That's all there is."

Slowly, slowly, in the shivery anticipation of morning, Melissa cracked a grin. Something was missing from it, but it was the best she could do at the time. "Look at you, Sammy. Wise as a sage."

He scoffed. "Shut up."

Again, there was a silence. More comfortable and pensive. Melissa's lonesome heart felt a little less broken, even if in the moment thinking of Dean put a bitter taste in her mouth. It surprised her the depth of the emotions she could feel for him, love or otherwise. She couldn't stand the way his smile turned up in the most wonderful, sarcastic way, or the glint in his eyes when he'd done something he knew he wouldn't regret. There were little things too, that she despised in the moments when she needed to channel her anger. The way the light hit the curve of his back in the nighttime, when it was just the two of them. How he would scream the music at the top of his lungs, usually one of the same ten albums. The feeling of his hand on her chest, feeling her heartbeat on nights when he dreamt of hell and woke up screaming. Melissa guessed it was to make sure she was human, though he only did it in silence. And his way about him where he thought he always got everything right.

She clicked her tongue, looking up at Sam, her arms crossed over her chest. There were moments like these when she saw shadows of the young man she'd met all that time ago in the woods in Colorado. His hair was boyishly cut then, but he still had the same odd innocence about him that contradicted everything else in his personality. Even then, in Colorado, he'd been hurting. She'd met him right after Jessica. It struck her how long it'd been since Sam had spoken about the love of his life.

"Hey," he spoke up.

She tilted her head.

"I'm sorry...about Rosie."

She smiled softly. "It's alrigh.' She wasn't real. Neither was I."

He nodded and looked down, his expression slightly uncomfortable. She caught him fiddling with his fingernails, a nervous tick he'd had since she could remember. His hands looked stronger and older.

"You don't still pray, do you?" she asked.

He smiled a little and scoffed. "No."

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch that day when you first thought we were chasin' angels," she said quietly. "I guess the joke's on me now."

. . .

Not a day went by that Dean didn't think about John. Some days he was angry at his father, others he missed him more than anyone or anything else. As he drove through the rainy streets, the sky stretching out so wide on either side of him that he hardly noticed when mid-morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon faded into evening, he yearned for the guidance he so rarely felt like seeking anymore. His father had never been especially helpful with girls when he was young, but there hadn't been any time. He'd never _asked_ for help with women. But John and Mary had seemed perfect. He wanted that with Melissa, but he'd never been able to make it so. Maybe John would've helped. But as Dean pondered it, he knew it was wishful thinking. So then, it was time to improvise.

The sky was darker and the rain was coming down hard when Dean finally looped back around to the motel. He sighed a little in relief when he saw she was still there. Talking with her with such finality had made him nervous. What if she had gone and never come back? What then? He kicked off his wet boots and tried his best not to make too much noise with the bags of groceries he brought in. She had fallen asleep with her glasses on, a book laid on her chest, on top of the covers. He gave a small, guilty, fond smile in her direction and slowly undressed, putting on a dry shirt and his flannel pajama bottoms. He was shivering a little still and goosebumps stood out against his careworn skin. Melissa was right. It was getting too damn cold. Especially for October.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, her side. Gently, he took off her glasses and removed the book from her motionless hands. He had just gotten to the kitchenette to unpack the groceries when she began to stir. It was odd. She was only a light sleeper when she really needed the rest.

"Hey," he greeted her softly. He gazed at her, lit lowly on the darker side of the room. There she was, the woman he always had in the back of his mind. And she was wearing his Metallica t-shirt.

She cleared her throat and sized him up with a bleary glance. "Hey." She took a deep breath, rolling over and putting her face in the pillow, relishing in its warmth.

There was a hollow creak in the bed frame as he sat down next to her. Taking a moment to prepare herself before she looked up, Melissa heard a song playing in her head, one she'd been dreaming about. She couldn't quite place the tune to any lyrics. She felt him run his fingers through her hair and she sighed, feeling some stress leave her muscles.

"Hm, your hands are cold, gorgeous," she told him, her voice a little husky. He didn't have a chance to reply before she rested her hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. He smiled almost wistfully when he pulled away. She scooted over in bed, getting under the covers and making space for him. So they laid side-by-side, and she took his hand in hers.

"Is it still hurting?" he asked.

She scoffed. "Which part?"

"Touché."

Laughing a little at his concern, she winced and propped herself up in her elbow to look at him. She played mindlessly with the hem at the neck of his t-shirt. "I'll be fine. I've seen worse."

"But you threw up this morning," he argued, giving her a once-over.

She shrugged and laid her head back down heavily. "And you're still shivering. We've all got problems."

He scrubbed at his stubbly jaw with his rough hand, frustrated at his own jumbled thoughts. "What's wrong?"

"2014," she said immediately, hearing Sam's words in her head. She knew he was right. "There, I was...I wasn't married but it was like I was. I had kids. Well, I _did_. And then the virus…"

She was staring up at the ceiling, knowing that if she looked over at him her emotions would boil over. Dean watched her carefully, trying to gauge where the story was going and finding he could not.

"Anyway, Rosie was still alive, then. It was her. I had to kill her. Again."

His face fell. "Oh, Missy-"

"No, Dean, it's...it's okay. Zachariah told me it was the way it would be if I wasn't 'marked' or whatever. He just...it wasn't real," she said slowly, but her voice was at ease. "And he told me everyone would have something just like what happened to me happen to them if I didn't get you to say 'yes.' And I was wondered if I came back...I might start to believe him. Start to t-take their side."

Her cheeks were burning in shame and she felt the fire spreading down her neck, too. She could hear the way she sounded in her head and she didn't like it one bit. A traitor, that's what she was.

"Hm," he hummed in thought from her other side, his grip tightening on her hand though no other parts of them were touching. "They…"

He stopped to sigh heavily and start again. "I mean, I told you I met myself there, right?"

She nodded.

"And me there…Jesus. I don't even wanna think about him. But...in that world you were long dead. And it was me. You got infected, and you begged me...and I thought I was putting you out of your misery…" he said, gritting his teeth a little as he remembered the altercation he had with his 2014 self. The weight of the versions of himself he'd been, particularly the one from hell, was pushing on his chest and he felt as though his lungs might burst from the pressure.

She sat up too quickly and winced, regretting it. After she composed herself, she raised his eyebrows at him. "I begged you?"

"Yeah, that's what I...he told me."

"Rosie begged _me_ ," she mused, not meeting his eyes, like she was looking somewhere he couldn't see. "That was it. The lesson, or whatever. Goddammit. I guess it didn't work on you as well as it worked on me."

It only embarrassed her more. It had felt so real, all of it. So close to home. But, in that moment, all she could feel was his grasp on her hand. He was real. In that motel room. As far as she was concerned, that was the only true universe. There were glimpses of the other world in the back of her mind, as they always were these days, but for the first time since 2014 she reminded herself of the things she could touch. The things that weren't part of the game.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, putting her head on his chest to hide her face. "I was so stupid. It was all part of the fucking plan. I know that. I _knew_ that. But the way that gun felt in my hands...and the way she was yelling at me to shoot-"

"Hey, hey," he cooed softly, tracing little patterns on her back feather-light, just in case he neared the stitches. "Missy, don't be sorry. I get it. Believe me, I do. But you don't have to worry so much. All I learned from that whole thing was that it ain't no good when the three of us aren't together. I mean, in that world, Cas was a _hippie_."

She scoffed and hit his chest half-heartedly as he wrinkled his nose at the word. "Shut up, Winchester."

"I surrender," he chuckled lightly. The smell of dust made the room feel homier, oddly, though it was one of the sleazier joints Melissa could remember ever being in. She couldn't quite hear it, but she imagined Dean's heartbeat as she closed her eyes and dozed for a moment on his chest. His arm came to rest gently on her waist, him touching her as if she were made of glass as he often did. His breathing was deep and long, and it made her sleepy. But she'd been asleep since the afternoon. And it felt like forever since she'd seen him, _really_ seen him.

"I'm sorry I got mad this morning," he spoke up, and she felt herself break out in a grin at the vibration of his voice against her cheek. "I...I didn't mean what I said about you stayin' gone. If you left for good, I'd crash and burn, baby."

"Ain't that the truth. Me too. I'm sorry I lied," she replied, feeling some sort of constricting force on her heart leave her. She hadn't told him about the dream with Mary, but it could wait. One Heaven head invasion at a time. Even her vision seemed clearer for the moment as she imagined them in a bubble universe, all alone in that motel room with nothing else but time. Maybe that's what Heaven was. But she would settle for here on Earth if it meant no angels coming around.

He kissed her lips softly in forgiveness and let his hand linger on her cheek for a moment, feeling the hot blush underneath.

He disentangled himself from her gingerly, going over and finishing his work with the groceries. She gazed at him, his broad shoulders and the slow, deliberate movements in the muscles of his back under the thin cloth of his shirt. She wanted him, and her hunger strengthened with each quickening beat of her heart against her ribcage.

"Hey, lover boy?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he turned around with his eyebrows raised almost boyishly, and it made her want to laugh.

"It's been too long," she spoke, flashing him a flirtatious smile. He rolled his eyes, loving how dorky she was when she tried to be sexy. It was only when she let her guard down, when she thought he wasn't looking, that she achieved the allure she hoped for. This Melissa, goofy but still confident in her own right, was sexy in a different way. He had to admit it, he would've taken her right in that moment, had it not for the claw marks in her side.

"I agree, but you're tore up six ways from Sunday, darlin,'" he explained, a wide, wry smile on his face. "Give it a couple days till you're feelin' better. I don't wanna hurt you. How about for now I make some soup?"

"My hero," she shot back sarcastically, but not without the smirk still present on her lips. She turned over and felt herself breathe, watching as the rainy night turned black through the grimy motel window.

 **Author's Note:** Funny story! I had this written three weeks ago and then, all of a sudden, my internet decided to stop working. So it's been great. Hopefully now we're back on track for good. Sorry for the delay. Hope you liked this chapter! More action is to come.

Thank you so much to _**Laura201112**_ _,_ _ **Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , _**SaphyraBlu13**_ , and _**LoveFiction2018**_ for your lovely reviews on the last chapter! Again, really sorry about the delay. I hope the length of this chapter made up for it and you'll give me some feedback! Thank you again.

PLEASE review down below to let me know what you thought of this installment. Thank you for reading!

Peace and love.


	63. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Doctor Robert"** by The Beatles

\- " **Surrender"** by Cheap Trick

\- " **Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You?"** by Stevie Nicks

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 _Click-clack, click-clack_. Dean listened to the sound of Melissa's heels on the tile floor as they exited the run-down police station in the high country of Ohio. He'd told her not to wear them, figuring they might put pressure on her knee, which was on the mend but still had hues of green and yellow mixed with her normal pale. She hadn't worn heels much before. Maybe being taller made her feel stronger. He didn't know. But it made him wince a little to see the limp she had tried so hard to hide in the past week.

"So...the Hulk?" Sam asked into the chilly morning air.

"God, I love my job," Melissa answered, carefully getting into the back seat of the Impala, clutching her side.

"Yeah, some days," Dean replied, his mood lukewarm.

. . .

After very little research, they had a solid theory. The man whose wife claimed was killed by the Incredible Hulk (the Lou Ferrigno version, of course) had a series of spousal abuse and physical assault charges. Melissa didn't see the point in finding justice for a guy like that. But Sam knew immediately it was a trickster. Or, _the_ trickster. Melissa had been on a solo the last time the boys encountered him, but from the stories he sounded like a real son of a bitch. She was actually pumped, for lack of a better word. She'd been on bedrest for the past week, imcluding on her birthday. It hadn't been too terribly boring. They'd given her enough cassettes as presents to keep her occupied for a while. But it wasn't her. Without something to do or kill, her skin was crawling.

The evening light was waning and the motel room was quiet. The sound of Melissa's knife on wood filled up the empty space. A stake dipped in the blood of a trickster's victim was in order. Dean and Sam sat at the kitchen table pouring over some supplementary research, trying to discern why the last time they'd killed him hadn't stuck. A scratchy voice came over the police scanner.

"Um, dispatch? I got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6?"

"Hey," Sam said, turning up the volume.

"Roger," dispatch said through the rickety device. "What are you looking at there, son?"

"Honestly, Walt, I don't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just...send everybody."

"Alright, stay calm. Stay by your car. Help's on the way," dispatch assured the frightened man, and then communication went dead.

. . .

The waistband of her old jeans was tight with the weight of her gun. She held a stake and small flashlight in steady hands, following Sam in the front with Dean behind her. The door was exceptionally creaky, and it reminded her of the old horror moives she watched with her brothers when she was young. Back when the monsters were imaginary. She yearned for them suddenly, wondering why something so innocuous could do this to her. She could still see the Daffy Duck pajamas Tommy wore every Saturday morning. But her memories were wiped clean for a moment as they entered the mill. Or, what they thought was a mill.

The air changed instantly. It was colder...it smelled like hand sanitizer or bleach or something Melissa couldn't place, though it was familiar. And the lights...they took her longer to notice. They were a harsh, whitish fluorescent. The kind that would give you a headache after a while. Her eyes widened as she looked down and found herself wearing scrubs. Her gun had vanished from her hands. That alone made her jumpy.

"What the hell?" Dean asked out loud, voicing all their thoughts.

A few people dressed in medical attire passed by the three of them, nodding their heads a little and greeting them with a solemn, "Doctor."

Sam furrowed his brows. "Doctor?"

Melissa turned around, hoping to find the cold driveway they'd left on the other side. Instead, she saw two doctors in the heat of passion, fondling each other, pushed up against a wall of gauze and capped needles. She shut it abruptly and faced the boys with a puzzled expression. Neither of the Winchesters had a chance to respond before a young woman with pretty face and hospital clothes came up and bid them, mostly Sam, a "Doctor." Then she slapped him square in the face.

Sam's went starry and even more confused as he looked back at her. "Ow!" he exclaimed.

"Seriously," she said incredulously.

"What?" Sam asked, dumbfounded.

"Seriously?" the brunette doctor repeated. "You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."

"Um…" Sam searched for words. "What are you talking about?"

She slapped him once more. "As if you don't know!" And then, she was gone down the shiny white hallway.

"I don't believe this!" Dean said to no one in particular, his face suddenly lighting up.

"What?" Melissa said, beginning to panic underneath all the layers of polyester and cotton. She missed her leather.

"That's Doctor Piccalo!" he told them, walking quickly down the hall, propelling the conversation towards the nurses' station.

"Who?" Sam chimed in.

"Doctor Ellen Piccalo! The sexy, yet earnest doctor at…" he trailed off, taking in his surroundings and finding a familiar sign over the nurses' desk. "Seattle Mercy Hospital!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Melissa prodded more, crossing her white lab-coatted arms over her chest, standing next to Sam.

"The doctor getups, the interns, the 'seriously's. It all makes sense!"

" _What_ makes sense?" Melissa continued impatiently.

"We're in _Doctor Sexy, M.D._!"

. . .

"I thought you said you weren't a fan," Sam said to Dean accusatorily.

They wandered the halls anxiously, looking for any kind of way out but finding none. Hospitals. Melissa's favorite fucking place. But being dressed like it was Halloween and watching Dean geek out over that terrible soap opera was making it a bit better. Besides, it wasn't every day she got to roam around in TV Land. In fact, it was no day. Until now.

"I'm not. I'm not," Dean insisted. He ignored it when Melissa shot him a raised eyebrow.

Something caught the elder Winchester's eye and he stopped dead in his tracks. "I don't believe it," he muttered.

"What?" Sam asked.

"It's him," Dean replied.

"Who?"

"It's him. It's Doctor Sexy," Dean said.

Melissa raised her eyebrows at the man strutting down the corridor towards them. He had on dark blue scrubs beneath his lab coat and his long, dark hair bobbed along with his bouncy step. His face, however, was set in a solemn expression, his goatee giving him age and a look of wisdom.

He approached, looking to Dean first. "Doctor," he said emotionlessly.

Dean flushed with excitement and looked down to hide his smile as he echoed a, "Doctor."

"Doctor," the man said again, this time facing Sam. The younger Winchester gave an uncomfortable smile and a little nod, hoping that would suffice. Dean elbowed him.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Doctor."

The man turned to Melissa last, but before he could open his mouth she slapped him hard across the face.

"Seriously?" she exclaimed as he recoiled. Dean gave her an exasperated look but Sam just laughed. She winked at them slyly.

Cupping his jaw, Doctor Sexy ignored the blow and turned to address Dean again. Sam glanced over at Melissa and she just shrugged. Why not take advantage of TV Land?

"You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to give that experimental face transplant to Miss Biehl?" Doctor Sexy demanded.

Dean gaped for a moment, then tried to get his bearings.

"One reason?" he asked, giving the doctor a once-over. Suddenly, Dean took the man and slammed him against the wall. "You're not Doctor Sexy!"

"You're crazy," Doctor Sexy countered.

"Really? Because part of what makes Doctor Sexy so sexy is that he wears cowboy boots, not tennis shoes!" Dean argued. Melissa looked down at the doctor's shoes, and, sure enough, he was sporting a pair of white sneakers that reminded Melissa of middle-aged dads who wore tropical shirts on vacation.

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "You're _not_ a fan."

Sighing, Dean lowered his voice and glanced with embarassment at Melissa and his brother. "It's a guilty pleasure."

"Ain't you got a few?" Melissa said almost coyly, wanting to make him blush even more. She'd healed up, and they'd been back in the saddle for a few nights.

"Call security," Doctor Sexy barked at the few orderlies milling about in the hallway behind them.

"Yeah? Go ahead, pal," Dean tempted. "See, we know who you are."

Just then, everything around them stopped. Melissa blinked hard to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Before them, Doctor Sexy morphed into a different man, a smirk growing across his pale face and a mischevious twinkle appearing in his dark eyes.

"You guys are getting better!" the new man exclaimed.

Melissa felt her jaw clench at the sight of him. "The trickster, I presume?"

His large, expressive eyes locked with hers. "At your service," he said slowly.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Dean chimed in angrily, inching his face closer to the trickster's, his strong arm still pinning the shorter man to the bland hospital wall.

"Or what?" the trickster quipped, taking Dean's arm and twisting it away. "Don't say you have wooden stakes, big guy."

"So, that was you on the police scanner, right?" Sam asked, a crease between his brows. "This is a trick."

"Hello?" the trickster said mockingly, releasing Dean's arm and gesturing to his own face. "Trickster! I heard you yahoos were in town. I couldn't resist!"

. . .

It was another game. They had to "play their roles," so to speak, in all the TV shows the Trickster had created, or else they would be stuck in TV Land forever. She couldn't really grasp how long they'd been inside the weird fascade of a world, but it felt like at least a couple days in real time. So, Dean had been shot and Sam had to perform surgery on him, she had been in the audience of a Japanese game show, and in the background of a herpes commerical. But this new place had to be the worst. There was an oddly plastic feeling to the set, and her costume was cold and embarassing. For whatever reason, she was a token sex object for Dean in whatever the sitcom (?) was supposed to be. She walked out into the middle of a frontless set, flushing under the eyes of the audience in a floral bikini and high heels. She thought she felt heavy makeup on her cheeks and spray in her hair. She tried not to cringe but could barely hide it.

Clearing all thoughts from her head, she thought she heard some idiotic line about research come out of her mouth, and she saw Sam and Dean both equally uncomfortable under the hot stage lights.

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Dean asked lowly through cleanched, smiling teeth.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "Maybe forever?"

A laugh track roar came from the nearly faceless crowd. Melissa had her arms self-consciously wrapped around her stomach and stood near Dean, trying to hide her ass, which felt like it was pretty damn near hanging out for the whole world to see.

"I'm gonna rip that dick's throat out," she growled, which provoked a gasp from the audience. She flipped them off in response.

"We might die in here," Sam concluded. The crowd only laughed.

"How was that funny?" Dean asked them angrily. "Vultures!"

The warm-colored wooden door swung open and revealed Castiel, who appeared to have a bloody nose and a wound on his forehead, but nothing too serious.

"You okay?" Dean asked the angel immediately.

"I don't have much time," Castiel said gruffly.

"What happened?" Sam chimed in.

"I got out," Castiel replied shortly.

"From where?" Dean asked.

"Look," Castiel got down to business, "something's not right. This is much more powerful than it should be."

"What?" Melissa asked. "The trickster?"

"If it is a trickster," Castiel explained. She didn't like the look in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Suddenly, Castiel flew backwards and the door swung open, the flimsy set shaking a little. The man from the hallway in Doctor Sexy appeared in the doorway again, sweeping in with a cheerful disposition and a wink to the crowd.

"Hello!" he sing-songed.

Cas finally got his bearings again, his eyes bloodshot and bruised and a piece of duct tape over his mouth now.

"Thank you, thank you, ladies," the trickster (?) addressed the crowd once more. He turned towards Cas. "Hi, Castiel!"

With a flick of his hand and a gust of wind, Cas flew back and vanished in an explosion of static.

"You know him?" Sam asked.

"Where did you send him?" Dean chimed in.

"Relax…" the trickster (maybe) crooned. "He'll live. Maybe."

The crowd, still faceless, gave another generic burst of laughter. Melissa grumbled, taking off her tall shoes and chucking them past the camera, hoping leave at least one vulture with a stiletto to the eye.

"Alright, y'know what, we're done with your little monkey dance. I get it," Dean told him.

"Yeah? Get what, hotshot?" the trickster provoked him.

"Playing our roles, right? That's the game?" Dean asked.

"That's half the game," the trickster confirmed smugly.

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Jesus, just spit it out! What's the other half?!"

"Cool your jets, sparky," the trickster patronized her, holding out his hand in deprecation. "I don't know if you forgot, but I run the show here." He snapped his fingers and her heels were back on her feet. She gritted her teeth but Dean put a hand on her arm to calm her, and she said nothing more.

"The other half?" Sam ventured again.

The trickster sighed. "Playing your roles out there."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"Oh, you know, Sam starring as Lucifer, Dean starring as Michael," the trickster gestured to the brothers, then cast a glance at Melissa. "And this one, who can't decide whether she's Mary or Eve. The celebrity death match. Play your roles."

"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam asked.

"Hells yeah!" the trickster agreed. "Let's light this candle!"

"We do that and the world will end," Sam explained, almost as though he were talking to a child. Melissa thought it was odd that it was the way he talked to monsters. It sort of made sense, though; youngest children always felt like they had to be taken seriously. Rosie had always wanted to be right.

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" the trickster prodded. "Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hm? Look, it's _started_. You started it. It can't be stopped. So, let's get it over with!"

Sam only glared at the smarmy man.

"Whose side are you on? Heaven or hell?" Dean asked, cutting right to the chase.

"I'm not on either side," the trickster told them, all of a sudden becoming very serious.

Melissa scoffed. "Neutral don't exist on this one, baby. Whose ankles do you bite at? Michael or Lucifer?"

"You listen to me, you bitch. I don't work for either of those SOBs. Believe me," the trickster said, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, I think _you're_ somebody's bitch," Melissa countered, her tone deadly. All the aura of smug vanished from the trickster's face. He ran up to her, his forearm over her throat as he slammed her against the wall.

"Don't you _ever_ presume to know what I am," the trickster growled. She spat in his face. He recoiled, and when he got far enough away she backhanded him so hard his mouth started to bleed.

"Holy crap," Sam muttered.

"Same to you," she snapped at the trickster, then turned away to cool off her flushed demeanor.

The trickster took a moment, touching his finger to his split lip and healing it instantly. He shot a dark look at Melissa's back but gathered himself, speaking mostly to the boys.

"Now, listen very closely," the trickster said pointedly, though his voice had taken on some lightness again. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

"And if we don't?" Sam asked.

The trickster, or mock trickster, or fake trickster, or whatever he was, only let the rictus widen across his face.

"Then you'll stay here in TV Land forever. Three hundred channels...and nothing's on," he finished with a snap of his fingers, and suddenly they were somewhere else.

. . .

First, there was _CSI Miami_ , or a type like that, and then there was stabbing the trickster in _CSI Miami_. But then, they came back to reality, suddenly in a motel room in the middle of the morning. The air was stale and Melissa was beginning to feel a little woozy with all this being zapped through different realities. It was odd, the way the trickster did it. Dean was in the middle of brushing his teeth and she was laying on the bed, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. It felt like they had been there for hours but she knew it could have only been seconds. She wondered if it was what that kid must've felt like in _Back to the Future_. Plopped into something that's already moving around.

"I'm worried," Dean said after he spit out his toothpaste, still just going along with the motions though it didn't feel like TV Land so much anymore. "What that son of a bitch did to Cas? I mean, where is he?"

Melissa sighed, feeling the rise and fall of her own chest with her hand over her heart. "I don't know. Could he have enough juice to zap 'im back up to heaven?"

Dean echoed her sigh. "Yeah, maybe. What do you think, Sam?"

There was silence. Propping herself up on her elbows, Melissa looked around the dingy room. The younger Winchester was nowhere to be found.

. . .

Gravel crunched underneath their worn boots as they exited the Impala, which currently housed Sam's concious, or something. It really was quite a trip, the whole TV Land thing, Melissa thought. They rummaged through the trunk, searching desperately for the best guns and for the holy oil.

"Guys?" Sam's voice came through the radio.

"What?" Melissa deadpanned, snatching the rosary and stuffing it in her pocket just in case. Sometimes she ran her thumb over the smooth beads and thought of her mother. She had smooth skin.

"That feels...really uncomfortable," Sam replied.

She smirked, letting the gun that propped the trunk up down. "C'mon, Sam, you've got a stick up your ass most of the time, anyway."

"Ow," Sam said as she slammed it shut.

Dean chuckled, walking around to the hood.

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "No, but I have no other ideas."

He looked up at the sky. There were few clouds but it wasn't exactly bright in the _Night Rider_ universe. There was a chill in the air, and it had rained a few hours earlier, leaving a dampness in the atmosphere that reminded Melissa of a cellar. She ran her fingers over the beads in the pocket of her new black military jacket, and she thought of the way her mother looked applying blush in front of the small, craked vanity in her bedroom. It almost made her homesick, but maybe it was just becuase she was in the wrong reality. But it was at least not quite as wrong as 2014.

"Alright, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled into the open air in the parking lot. "Uncle! We'll do it!"

There was an unsettling silence.

"Maybe you should honk, Sam," Melissa suggested.

"Wow, Sam," the trickster said, appearing out of thin air. "Get a load of the rims on you."

"Eat me," Sam shot back.

"Okay, ready to go quietly?" the trickster raised his eyebrows.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast," Dean said, holding his hand up. "No one's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs."

"What's the difference? Satan's gonna ride his ass one way or another," the trickster quipped.

Dean only stared at him, and finally the trickster rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers. Slowly, Sam emerged from the back seat, his worn brown boots walking heavily towards them. His expression was uncomfortable, his mouth quirked slightly in the way it sometimes was.

"Happy?"

"Tell me one thing," Dean said. "Why didn't the stake kill you?"

"I _am_ the trickster," the trickster told them.

"Maybe you're not," Dean said gruffly. Melissa held up a lighter and let it drop near the trickster.

Orange flames licked around the mysterious man's waist.

"Maybe you've always been an angel," the elder Winchester concluded smugly.

"A _what_? Did someone slip a mickey into your power shake?" the trickster scoffed.

Melissa raised an eyebrow at him dangerously.

"And it burns, burns, burns," she mused slowly. "The ring of fire."

The trickster laughed, but stopped as she looked him dead in the eyes. He knew he'd been caught. There came another burst of static that was becoming all too familiar to them. The warehouse they'd come to for the fake police dispatch appeared around them, with its dirty walls and broken windows. The trickster started to clap. His face was twisted in a sarcastic grin.

"Well played," he said. "Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"You might say we pulled it outta Sam's ass," Dean told him humorlessly.

"So, where'd I screw up?" the (now) angel asked.

"Mostly it was the way you talked about armageddon," Dean answered. "No one gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

"So, which one are you?" Sam continued. "Grumpy, sneezy, or douchey?"

The angel cast his eyes down darkly, but he responded after a beat. "Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel."

The rest was a lot of shouting, which Melissa mostly abstained from. Sometimes she forgot how little Bible the boys'd had in their upbringing. She stood with her eyes narrowed at the angel. He was explaining how he couldn't stand to see his brothers fighting anymore, and he just wanted it to end. Yes, she knew Gabriel. She knew him well. It didn't get interesting until Gabriel finally got to why Sam and Dean were the chosen. It was something that had never made sense to her.

"What you call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner," he told them. "That's why there's no stopping this; it's not about war. It's about two brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other. You'd think you two could relate."

Melissa furrowed her brows.

"What are you talking about?" Sam echoed her confusion.

"You sorry sons of bitches," Gabriel raised his voice. "Think about it! Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. And _you_ ," he paused, looking straight at Melissa. "You were Mary, but you ended up _Eve_."

He stopped, seeming to wait for her wrath, but she didn't respond. She was sure Cas would be more honest with her than whoever this dick was. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's your destiny, boys! It was always you! And as it is in heaven, it shall be on Earth. One brother must kill the other."

"What the hell are you saying?" Dean kept on, his tone dangerous. He didn't want to belive it. Melissa's stomach was churning.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped the light on around here, we always knew it would end with you. Always," Gabriel said, getting quieter and more solemn as he went on.

There was a long pause, and Melissa saw the brothers look at each other in the way they sometimes did. The way she couldn't read.

"That's not gonna happen," Dean assured no one in particular.

"I'm sorry. But it is."

. . .

Somewhere, there was an owl. It reminded her of Halloween. She laid awake, looking through the dirty blinds of the motel room, and the lampost out in the misty night made her think of the poster for _The Exorcist_. It almost made her laugh. Her palms were itchy; she would give anything to go out and make a demon her bitch in that moment. After almost leaving the trickster, Dean did indeed extinguish his holy fire. He also ripped the guy a new one for acting so cowardly, being afraid to stand up to his family. It had mixed everything up inside her head. Her thoughts were buzzing loudly like Southern cicadas, and she wondered on the fact that Dean couldn't hear them. She wondered what Dean's thoughts sounded like inside his own head.

 _Eve_ , he'd called her. He'd said it with a kind of resentment that confused her. Moreover, when in the hell had she ever been a Mary? Her father had always called her a hellraiser. She sighed into the silence. Her father. There had been a lot of "Dad" talk from Gabriel, and it had stirred up emotions she didn't expect. It reminded her of the way his rough hands felt when he laid them on her shoulders. They were firm and almost unwielding in an interesting way. She couldn't describe it. She could feel his vioence even when he intended his hands to be gentle. And he was driving. She turned over, suddenly hot under the comforter. She closed her eyes, hearing Dean's deep breathing, wishing she could steady her mind in the sound. But it was too stuffy in that room. There was a quiet uneasieness in her chest that was just around the corner. She could feel it there, but she couldn't see it quite yet.

She turned over again, sighed again, this time looking straight up at the stained yellow ceiling. The tips of her ears felt hot in her exasperation.

"What's wrong?" Dean grumbled from beside her, slinging an arm over her stomach lazily. She jumped a little as his voice broke the silence.

"What? Nothing. Go back to sleep," she said too quickly.

"Well, nothing ain't what's makin' you toss and turn like that," he said groggily, but he seemed a little more awake this time.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and didn't turn to face him. "I'm just thinking about my dad, alright? There. Now go the hell back to sleep, Dean. You need it."

He rolled his eyes and sat up against the scratched wooden headboard, crossing his arms over his bare chest and looking down at her. He could see sleep clouding her blue eyes, but only faintly. "I'm not gonna be able to fall asleep now until you fall asleep. So, what about your dad?"

She shrugged, then sighed again. "I don't know just...it's weird, y'know? Even Gabriel hates his dad."

He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Swallowing harshly, she sat up beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking straight in front of her. She could almost make out the outline of the rusty kitchenette in the moonlight.

"I don't know. I guess I hate my dad sometimes. Maybe it's 'cause I was the middle child, but I was always causin' the most trouble. He would lock me in the hall closet, 'specially when I couldn't fall asleep at night."

She spoke softly, sounding oddly sentimental.

"Jesus," Dean muttered.

The taste of the stale air in that closet hung in the back of her throat, making her remember. Like she was in a trap. "It was dark, but sometimes...there were spiders that came through the hole in the corner of the carpeting. Sometimes they would lay eggs in there, and I could feel them crawling over my bare feet."

Dean felt gosebumps rising on the pale skin of her arms as she leaned against him. He let her keep going. He didn't know what to say.

"I guess that's why I don't like bugs," she surmised, clearing her throat. "I don't know why hearing Gabriel...made me think of that. And that's what I was thinking about, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Missy," he told her sincerely, an edge in his tired voice.

She smiled a little. "You should stop apologizing for things that ain't your fault."

"No, but I mean, this whole apocalypse thing," he began with hesitation, "if it weren't for us, you'd-"

"We're well past that," she cut him off sternly. "And didn't you hear? I'm _Eve_. It was always us."

He grunted. "You believe all that?"

"Hell if I know," she answered quickly. "I bet Cas'll be less douchey about it, next time we see him."

Dean nodded a little. Then he sighed, and she felt his shoulder tense beneath her cold cheek.

"Destiny don't mean a thing, Dean," she said softly, reading his mind.

 **Author's Note:** We're back. :)


	64. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Sharp Dressed Man"** by ZZ Top

\- " **Hyacinth House"** by The Doors

\- " **Run Through The Jungle"** by Creedence Clearwater Revival

\- " **The Bends"** by Radiohead

 _ **Warning:**_ _This chapter contains depictions of anxiety and panic attacks that may be triggering to some readers._

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight**

In short, Melissa wasn't too impressed. The hunt for Crowley hadn't lasted them long at all, considering it took about three phone calls from Cas and about a nine-hour drive from their last hunt. Jo and Ellen were in on it with them, urging the three hunters that they were just as involved in the apocalypse. She had to admit, she was disappointed she'd been off solo when the boys had run into Becky at a _Supernatural_ convention ( _that_ , she was perfectly fine to have missed) and she'd finally mentioned the demon Crowley was the one Bela had sold the colt to. A little research revealed this Crowley was pretty high up on the Hell chain.

So, standing on the blood-stained, expensive rug in the magnificent Crowley's mansion, she was surprised that what stood before them was a short, Scottish man with a goatee.

"So. The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew finally found me," he said smugly, looking at the three hunters standing before him. Sam held Ruby's knife, Dean a shotgun, and Melissa a pistol. "Took you long enough."

Crowley ambled over, his shiny black shoes shuffling slowly. The three of them backed up slightly, coaxing him. He stopped short when he saw the rumpled rug, lifting up the corner to reveal the devil's trap drawn on the bottom side. He looked up.

"Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?"

Suddenly, demons approached the three of them from behind, pinning their arms back as they dropped their weapons. Melissa gritted her teeth but said nothing, worried for Jo, who was on watch duty in the corridors.

Crowley pulled the colt suavely from the inside pocket of his impeccably tailored suit, an ever-present smirk on his small lips.

"This is it, right? This is what it's all about," he said, looking at the gun as it glinted in the nighttime light. He aimed for Dean and Melissa squirmed in the demon's grasp. But just as she was about to start chewing herself free, three shots rang out and the pressure on her shoulders released. The three demons behind them were shot dead.

"We need to talk," Crowley said in a clipped tone. "Privately."

Dean looked to the suited demon with frantic green eyes. Crowley led them to another room as the three hunters exchanged uneasy glances with each other.

"What the hell is this?" Dean asked after arriving in another, but not dissimilar, room.

"Do you know how deep I could've buried this thing?" Crowley asked rhetorically, waving the gun and shutting the doors loudly with a flick of his hand. "There's no reason you or anyone should know this exists, except that I told you."

" _You_ told us?" Sam raised his eyebrow in questioning.

"Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine," Crowley told them dismissively.

"Why? Why tell us anything?" Melissa asked suspiciously.

In response, Crowley aimed at Dean once again. "I want you…" he said, stopping to pull the hammer down with a _click_ , "to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face."

Dean clicked his tongue, not seeming phased by the gun. "Uh-huh. Yeah. And why exactly would you want the devil dead?"

"It's called," Crowley began, finally lowering the gun and placing it on the giant mahogany desk behind him, "survival. Well, I forgot you three are at best functioning morons-"

" _You're_ functioning...morons…" Dean tried to chime in sarcastically, but stopped as Melissa shook her head a little at him. She patted him on the shoulder after seeing his crestfallen look. If there was one thing Dean hated, it was having a joke fall flat. Usually, Melissa laughed even if they weren't funny, which wasn't very often.

"Lucifer isn't a demon, remember?" Crowley continued as though he hadn't been interrupted at all. "He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just filthy bags of pus. If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?"

"But he created you?" Sam tilted his head.

"To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate mankind, we're next. So, help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times; back when we could all follow our natures."

The small demon began to pace around his extravagantly decorated room. "I'm in sales, dammit! So, what do you say I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?"

He held out the gun, and they all looked at it hesitantly. Crowley wiggled it around, and eventually Sam took the bait, keeping his squinted eyes on the unfamiliar demon the entire time he clutched the cold metal in his hands. The gun that had killed yellow eyes. He could hardly believe it.

"Great," Sam said shortly.

"Great," Crowley replied.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?" Sam asked in a slow, drawn-out voice.

"Thursday, the birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri," Crowley told them, his face still turned up cheerily.

Sam glanced between Dean and Melissa, and they gave him little nods.

"Great," the younger Winchester repeated, pointing the Colt between Crowley's eyes and pulling the trigger. It only clicked.

"Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition," Crowley said, going back behind his desk and reaching into one of the drawers.

"Uh, excuse me for askin,' but aren't you kinda signing your own death warrant? I mean, what if we go up against the devil and lose?" Dean asked, clearing the air a little of tension.

"Number one," Crowley began, standing up straight again and throwing Melissa some ammo, "he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you all leave, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don't miss, okay?! Morons!"

And then, he was gone. Sam sighed his heavy sigh.

. . .

Three whiskeys in, Melissa started teaching Dean to dance. The others were in the kitchen, seeing how many shots Castiel could down in a row and if it was even possible for him to be drunk. It was the end of the world as they knew it, the night before killing the devil. Ellen and Bobby were having a frank discussion at the small table, while Sam, Cas, and Jo stood around the counter continuing to drink. Melissa had moved the coffee table out of the way, putting a Doors record on the turntable near the couch where they'd first had sex.

She smiled a big, starry, drunken smile at him, holding her hand out as one of her favorite tracks started.

He looked up from his tumbler skeptically, half thinking she would have fallen over moving the table. "No."

She giggled. "C'mon, gorgeous. Do your Jim Morrison for me? I like it almost as much as the Jack Nicholson."

Leaning over, she ran one cold, thin hand down the nape of his neck, leaving sloppy kisses on his stubbled cheek. He closed his eyes as she pulled away, and in his moment of vulnerability she grabbed his hand and pulled him up with her, almost spilling his drink in the process.

"Woah!" he exclaimed, quickly turning around and setting the glass tumbler down on the beat up coffee table. "Damn, even drunk you're the strongest lady in the world."

"Ain't that the truth," she grinned, placing her laced fingers on the back of his neck. She swayed slowly, a little clumsy from the alcohol. "Sing to me, Jimmy."

He laughed merrily, skin flushed, though he was still more sober than she was. After Bobby had insisted on taking a group picture of them, she'd decided to get shitfaced. He couldn't blame her. She hated pictures even more than he did.

Creeping down close to her ear, he sung along with Morrison only for her. The deep tones of his voice gave her goosebumps and she smiled into his chest as she leaned against him, listening. The feel of his rumbling chest warmed her up more than the liquor. She swayed with him.

" _What are they doing in the Hyacinth House?_

 _To please the lions this day…"_

He moved her hands down to his waist as he sang, then began rubbing her upper arms gently in an attempt to combat her shivers. When he realized it was no use, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and slow as they moved their hips to the music. There was a hint of desperation in his taste, but she ignored it.

She looked back at him as they separated, her lips slightly parted and her eyes glassy. She looked like a dream in his tipsy haze. "Was that for the day after tomorrow? If we don't get there?"

His face fell. "Just think about right now, please. Just...right now."

She smiled weakly and buried her face in his neck. "Mmmm," she hummed. "I love this song."

. . .

Melissa chewed on her bottom lip as the five of them walked quickly down Main Street of Carthage. The town looked churchy, with lots of signs about Jesus and the importance of prayer peppering their surroundings. Her hands were steady wrapped around her shotgun, and she felt safer with the weight of the extra ammunition in the inside pockets of her army jacket. She longed for Bobby. He was at home in his wheelchair, probably wishing he was with them even more than she was. Ellen and Jo flanked the pack together on the right side, with Melissa on the far left next to Dean; Sam, the vessel in question, walked in the center. It was getting colder, but the sun shone through November clouds as the breeze nipped almost pleasantly at their cheeks. Apparently, Missouri was more mild now than Melissa had experienced on previous hunts.

After finding the police station empty, as deserted as the rest of the town, Sam, Dean, and Melissa had met back up with Ellen and Jo, who had lost Castiel. The angel was after reapers, which only he could see. According to Jo, the reapers were what had replaced the human population and then some. Now, all they could do was look for the trouble, wherever it, or _he_ , was hiding.

"Well, this is great," Dean muttered in irritation. "We're in town for twenty minutes and we already lost the angel up our sleeve."

"You think Lucifer got him?" Sam asked.

"That would be a logical solution now, wouldn't it, Sam?" Melissa snapped, instantly feeling guilty. Another voice piped up before she had the chance to apologize.

"There you are."

Turning around in unison, the group came to find Meg standing behind them, smirking.

"Shouldn't have come here," the demon said smugly.

"Hell, I could say the same to you," Dean drawled. He aimed the Colt at the dark-haired demon, putting on a mask of self-assurance.

"Didn't come here alone, Deano," she shot back.

An invisible force splashed the puddle near Meg's booted feet. Listening closely, Melissa could hear dogs growling and snarling. Her stomach sank.

"Hellhounds," she thought aloud.

"That's right," Meg grinned wickedly. "Dean's favorite. Come, y'all, my father wants to see you."

"I think we'll pass. Thanks," Sam shrugged.

"Your call," Meg said, putting her hands up. "You can make this easy, or you can make this really, _really_ hard."

Dean clenched his jaw and looked back at Melissa. She nodded.

"When have you known us to ever make anything easy?" Dean replied.

Meg only shook her head. Dean tilted his aim a little, letting a shot ring out. A splatter of blood erupted from the air above the puddle.

Melissa's eyes widened. "Run!"

All five took off in the opposite direction. Melissa could taste blood in the back of her throat, her heart pumping in her ears, knowing her bullets were useless against the beasts. She could see flashes of Dean's dead eyes, and his shredded chest, the night he died. She could only hear her own breathing, hoping all five sets of boots were still beating against the cracked pavement.

She shot a look back, only to make sure no bodies had been left in her wake. In a split second she was on the ground, feeling the claws of the heavy dog dig into her shoulders. She smelled its hot, rotted breath her on face and grimaced, doing her best to fight it off. She heard vague shouts of her name, and she turned her head as much as she could, seeing Jo rush towards her. Dean, Sam, and Ellen stood a little farther behind, all firing off careful but quick shots.

"Jo, stay back!" she urged, almost managing to roll farther away from the group.

She knew the second she went down she was done for. The least she could do was not take anybody with her. Especially not Jo, who she hadn't known for long, but who reminded her of Rosie in ways she couldn't quite place. She couldn't take away another person's potential, like she had so many others. Rosie. Allen. Pamela. She couldn't take away Ellen's child. Dean and Sam could get on without her. But she wasn't sure about a mother getting on without her daughter.

Still though, the inexperienced hunter kept forward, firing rounds and eventually pushing the hellhound off Melissa. She scrambled to her feet and was ready to keep running. She had almost caught up with Jo when a hellhound caught the blonde from the side, ripping her torso to shreds.

Melissa doubted she would ever forget hearing Ellen call out an anguished, "No!"

Without time to think, Melissa shrugged the strap of her shotgun over her shoulder, picked Jo up bridal style, and ran. She could feel Jo's thick, warm blood against her midsection. Her eyes darted around the main strip, spotting a hardware store that was bound to have a lock on its shatter-proof glass door. Behind her, countless shots rang out.

Ellen came out of nowhere and opened the store's door. By the time Melissa had leaned Jo gently against the back rack of the store, Sam was locking the door. She backed away from the young woman, Ellen hovering over her. Melissa's bloody hands shook as she brought them to her hips, looking around, grabbing a bag of rock salt from a shelf up front and ripping it open with her switchblade. She hastily lined the doors and windows, the boys following suit. Melissa saw Ellen remove Jo's hand from the wound out of the corner of her eye. It spurted blood.

By the time the place was hound-proofed, Ellen had made quick work of bandaging her daughter up. No one made much noise. Sam was handing Ellen supplies as needed. The mother wouldn't look Melissa in the eye. And Melissa couldn't dare look at Jo, whose face was losing color by the second.

Melissa stood against a shelf near the middle of the store, breathing deeply and trying to think up a way out of the trap. She'd overheard Dean, radioing Bobby for help on a device he'd quickly scraped together. They'd probably only been in the store for ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like years. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, and was almost shocked to feel the smooth, cool rosary. It was sticky with blood, and Melissa saw Rosie's face so vividly she could have sworn she was in the room with them.

She breathed in shakily, feeling cold beads of sweat pop out on her forehead. Luckily, she grabbed a bucket from the shelf just in time to retch into it, feeling utterly useless. When she was done, she tried to shake it off. Swallowing down the taste of bile, she went back over to Dean, listening in.

. . .

Melissa didn't bother to look behind her as the boys did when she felt the hot air blast the back of her neck. She knew what was back there, and she couldn't bring herself to face it, even if all it would look like was a ball of fire. After Bobby's call, they knew exactly where the devil would be, and what he was doing. He was raising the pale rider, Death himself, on William Jasper's farm. The angel of death had to rise at midnight at a site of awful carnage. Civil war soldiers had called the Battle of Carthage the "Battle of Hellhole." Seemed fitting.

Jo knew she was going to die, and she wanted to sacrifice herself. And Ellen wanted to go with her. They made the bomb fast, and there were few parting words. No more were needed. And as they ran out into the alley behind the hardware store, the hellhounds swarmed the store and Ellen and Jo pushed the big red button. Another two casualties in what was beginning to feel like a meaningless war.

It was dark by the time they reached the farm, peeking through the unkempt shrubs at a ragged, open field. Melissa's stomach still twisted as her mind played the last few hours over and over. She tried to get Jo's dying face out of her mind.

Droves of men stood in the deserted field, facing something just out of her eyesight. They looked like average Joes, clad in business suits and jeans. She narrowed her eyes at them.

"Guess we know what happened to some of the townspeople," Dean spoke their collective thought aloud.

"Seems like Lucifer's a little sexist, huh?" Melissa said, scoffing.

"You should tear him a new one when we see him," Dean told her.

"Planning on it," she replied.

They stood in comfortable silence a few seconds more, stomachs clenching and unclenching at the thought they were truly about to lay their eyes on the devil himself. Melissa sighed quietly. One hell of a day already.

"Okay?" Sam asked.

Melissa nodded in mock confidence and Dean echoed an "okay."

"Last words?" Sam continued.

"I think I'm good," Dean quipped.

Melissa shook her head and swallowed harshly.

"Yeah, me too," Sam agreed.

Dean shrugged and sighed heavily. "Here goes nothing."

They trekked toward what seemed to be center stage wordlessly, finding the vessel currently known as Lucifer digging a deep hole in the cold, muddy earth.

"Hey!" Sam yelled huskily, approaching the rebellious angel with a shotgun. Lucifer turned. Cracks in the vessel's exterior shown in the dim moonlight. He didn't quite fit. Sam was the only perfect match.

"You wanted to see me?" the younger Winchester coaxed and Dean and Melissa flanked either side of the scene.

Dean held the Colt while Melissa held her shotgun steadily with both hands. She felt her feet stood solidly on the ground and breathed in the rich night air.

"Oh, Sam, you don't need that gun here," Lucifer spoke in a honeyed, knowing voice. "You know I'd never hurt you. Not really."

"Yeah? Well, I'd hurt you," Dean chimed in, suddenly at Lucifer's side, the colt pointed at the archangel's temple. "So suck it."

A shot rang out in the otherwise completely silent air. Not even crickets chirped. The devil collapsed, unmoving. Melissa inched closer, standing next to Dean. After a moment though, Lucifer stirred and awoke once more.

"Owwww…" he said petulantly.

Her eyes widened. One of five things in the whole universe Samuel Colt couldn't figure how to kill. He was immortal, invincible. And they had released him. Ellen and Jo were dead on account of her for the sake of a fruitless fight.

"Where did you get that?" Lucifer asked, tilting his head a little.

He looked Melissa straight in the eye, and for a moment she thought she saw recognition within him. But then he flicked his hand her way, and she felt her back smacking the trunk of a tree, knocking the wind out of her. Then she saw stars for a moment, and the lights went out.

. . .

Goosebumps had risen on her arms by the time she woke up, a little drool leaking from the corner of her mouth onto Dean's chest, on which her head rested. She grimaced, her cheeks flushing as she wiped at her lips and lifted her chin. Dean, she found, was still asleep, stubble standing out on his jawline and a crease between his brows. Restless. Her head pounded loudly, making her feel a little green. Her back ached and her shoulder muscles were so tense they were nearly immobile. Like a hangover on steroids.

She did her best to remain relatively still as she got her bearings, finding herself asleep on top of Dean in Bobby's living room. She could hear Sam snoring somewhere a little ways off.

Dean cleared his throat abruptly, startling her. She slipped off him, falling between the couch and the coffee table on her ass with a soft _thud_. She shut her eyes tight, hoping everyone was still asleep.

"Missy?" Dean grumbled.

"Shit," she muttered. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

She breathed out slowly. "Mhm...I'm fine."

Raising her eyes to the window, she saw the nearly full moon, and the night with Lucifer came flooding back to her mind. She saw Jo and Ellen, waiting to send the hellhounds ablaze. She saw the devil rising from the dead. She saw the look on Sam's face when he knew they had failed. She felt the tree trunk against her back. She felt the hellhound's claws digging into the flesh of her shoulders.

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her body began to shake all over. The taste of bloody copper flooded her mouth and the room seemed like it was closing in. Claustrophobia overtook her as she remained on the ratty carpet of the living room. It was her. She had killed Ellen and Jo. Took the lives of two others more deserving than her. Rosie. Pamela. Her mother. The biker. It was all too much.

She brought a hand to her breast as the air left her, hoping to hold off the nerves overtaking her until she got to a private space. But her mind and her body couldn't seem to move together all of a sudden. The quiet sound of her shudders filled the musty room. She put a hand to her mouth, hoping Dean was back to dozing already, hoping harder that Sam wouldn't see her this way. She couldn't bring herself to get up. Subconsciously, she had chosen flight over fight, and she hated herself for it.

For a moment, she had to forget the shame she felt at her weakness. All she wanted was Dean. She wanted his touch, his voice, his eyes. She _needed_ something to keep her on the ground, feeling as though she was already stuck in mid-air. She struggled to breathe or to speak his name, instead groping helplessly to the couch above her, trying to reach his hand.

"Melissa…" he said groggily, confused. He fumbled for the lamp on the side table and squinted as he adjusted to its light. Then he saw her with a look he hadn't seen in months, her eyes wild and her breathing labored.

"Hey, hey, hey…" he began softly, standing up and grabbing her by both her hands. Her eyes shone with tears in the cold November night as he managed to get her to her feet, then placing her down gently on the couch.

Her lungs burned, inhaling in short bursts as the unrest within her worsened. She was numb to all except the feeling of complete and total dread. The pit in her stomach was heavy, and her nausea would have alarmed her more had she the ability to breathe.

"Missy," Dean said firmly, rubbing his hands down her arms. "It's okay. I'm right here."

She shook her head, swallowing thickly and looking out at the scrapyard through the window. Tears trickled down her flaming cheeks and the flush spread to the tips of her ears and her neck. She was beginning to feel lightheaded. A crease of determination formed between Dean's eyebrows, and he took her face in his hands.

"Missy, listen, you have to breathe, okay?" he said firmly. "Just breathe with me."

He brought her hands to his chest, breathing deeply.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked suddenly from the other side of the room, his hair mussed up and his face twisted in concern.

Melissa still gasped raggedly. "Sam…go...away…"

"She's having a panic attack, Sammy," Dean explained shortly without looking in his brother's direction. "Just give her a sec."

With Sam in the room, her breathing worsened. She couldn't take the embarrassment. She looked at him as the tears continued. His mouth quirked in worry.

Suddenly, Dean took Melissa by her chin gently and turned her head towards him. She tried to get lost in his green eyes, the way she could so easily when they first met. He breathed, in and out, never looking away from her.

"What was your favorite part about the beach?" he asked softly.

She furrowed her brows. "What?"

"C'mon, I wanna know, Missy." He smiled at her then, as though she weren't having a panic attack. As though he loved her just as much the way she was. As if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Okay...um…" she began, her voice weak but steadier. "The sky. I told you about the nighttime once...the way the stars looked like a planetarium. But sunset. It was like the painting my grandmother had in her spare bedroom when I was really little. Seeing it...made me think of my grandmother's perfume years after she died. When we drive past a sunset...I can still smell it."

He felt relieved as he heard her gain more control over her air. "Good. Just keep breathing, alright?"

She nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into him, her hands still on his chest. He smoothed circles over her back, kissing her soft hair.

"You feel better?"

"Yeah...thank you," she murmured, pulling away from him and clearing her throat. She wiped her tears with the pad of her thumb. She felt so exposed under their eyes, though the gazes were kind.

"Is that...are you okay, Mel?" Sam asked trepidatiously.

She sighed and put her flushed face in her hands, feeling wired but exhausted. "Yes, Sam, it's happened before, and no, you don't need to be worried. Please go back to sleep," she snapped tiredly.

"Oh," he said dejectedly. "Okay. Sorry."

"Wait, Sam-" she tried to stop him, but he had already walked around the corner back to wherever he had settled in for the night. Near enough to hear her crying. She shook her head to herself, immediately ashamed.

"Hey," he cooed, bringing one finger under her chin again to lift her watery eyes to his. "Don't worry about it. You can apologize tomorrow. He just wants to make sure you're alright."

Silence filled the room for a moment, but soon her face folded in front of him and she stood up quickly, her hands trembling.

"Dean...Ellen and Jo…" she said, biting back a sob. "It's my fault...it should've been me…"

She began to pace, and pushed him back by the chest when he tried to take her in his arms. "Don't touch me, Dean," she said firmly through her tears, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Missy, c'mon…" He put a hand on her arm but she shrugged it off.

"No," she pleaded, running her hands through her heavy hair, slightly greasy from days without a shower, grimy from her run-in with the hellhound in the road.

"Let's go for a drive," he suggested.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed. "No, Dean. Just don't touch me. You shouldn't touch someone like me. Go back to sleep. I need space or…"

Finding no more words to fit the moment, she left him in the living room and quietly rushed to the front porch, wanting only the night air on her fevered skin. She sat down on the creaky wooden steps and looked out at the junky old cars. All looked the same as ever, used to the point of being broken. Nothing ever changed in Sioux Falls.

Elbows on her knees and hands on her face, Melissa sat in the spot on the porch and cried until her eyes felt puffy and cheeks bruised. The night was turning from a dark black to an inky blue, and she knew morning was coming. Another day watching everyone die. She wished for it to end. She wished she could die like a hero, young, troubled, the way she thought she would.

"Melissa," a voice came cutting through the dark as she shivered. At least she'd gone out with her boots on, as she had slept. Less chance of tetanus amongst all the rusty car parts.

She didn't look up from the frosty ground before her, rubbing at her tired eyes.

"Melissa?" an all too familiar gravelly voice spoke again. She sighed, hoping maybe if she didn't respond it would go away. But she looked up to find Castiel in his trenchcoat, the trademark stern look on his face.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly.

The angel ambled over and sat down next to her at a cautious distance. He sighed. "You can't be having...these thoughts, Melissa."

"I can have whatever thoughts I damn well please," she shot back, though all the energy was drained from her voice. "How did we get out before Lucifer...or the pale rider...ate us?"

"I came and transported you," Castiel replied simply.

She scoffed and looked up at the mixing colors of the sky. "Wow, our savior."

"I am not the lord," Castiel replied, the look on his face blank. "I just came...I wanted you to know you've done nothing wrong. You're doing...your best against everything."

"Fuck you and your 'everything,'" she said ruefully. "Tell me how getting Jo killed was my best. Or was that also part of your plan?"

Castiel sighed. "It's not _my_ plan. Frankly, I'm not so sure our plan was ever set in stone. And you don't have to believe in it. But somewhere, you prayed for help just now. So I came."

She scoffed, sniffed, turned away from him and breathed out a slow breath, visible in the cold. When she turned back to him, her face held a small, bitter smile.

"I wasn't praying for you. I was praying for my mother," she admitted, feeling a little pull in her heart. She felt juvenile under his concerned gaze, and hoped she didn't show too much of a flush on her cheeks. Inside, she often cried out for her mother when she felt helpless. Even Dean didn't know that. She had no idea the angels could hear. She'd have to try to stop.

His face softened at her. "Your mother is in a better place. She should stay there."

She shook her head. "'Better place.' What a racket. What good is a place for a mother if she can't see her children there?"

Feeling as though no more words could help her, Castiel reached a tentative hand out and put it on her shoulder. He felt his people skills were getting a little better, but with Melissa he still often felt clueless. He knew she resented him, but he would keep trying until he could show her how his opinions of the 'big plan' were changing.

" _Don't_ touch-" she began angrily, but at the sound of her edgy voice, he disappeared.

Again, she sat alone.

. . .

Dean found her the next morning, asleep at the kitchen table, her arm outstretched and her hand just shy of clutching the beer bottle placed in front of her. After a restless night without her near him, he'd woken to the sound of early birds, pulling an extra shirt over his head almost immediately to keep the goosebumps at bay in the drafty house. He'd almost gone after her, but feared scaring her far away as he had done so many times before. He'd sat up awhile, waiting to hear the sputtering gasp of her truck driving away, but it never came. Eventually, he couldn't fight the heaviness in his eyes.

First, he took the nearly full beer and put it in the fridge to finish off later, then went over and smoothed down her hair. He hoped if he woke her up gently she wouldn't come at him swinging. It worked, evidently, and he logged the knowledge away for other mornings. She cleared her throat and cracked open her reddish eyes, still feeling swollen from her tears. She sighed, then held her head in her hands and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She shivered in her maroon henley and jeans, wishing for the sweater tucked away somewhere in her duffel. Looking up at Dean, she felt her face redden in shame.

"Hey," she greeted him sheepishly. "Dean, I'm-"

"I know. It's okay. You wanna take a shower?"

She smiled. "Hell yes."

. . .

They were practically stepping on each other in the small guest bathroom in Bobby's downstairs, but Melissa would never have minded. Her pale skin was screaming for warmth, and Dean's proximity was a good start.

Dean sighed heavily standing across from her. "Let's see those shoulders."

She smirked. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He chuckled warmly. "Deal."

Undressing wordlessly across from Dean as he shed his own layers, Melissa's joints popped and cracked, muscles aching. Sleeping at the kitchen table may not have been the best idea. After coming inside, she'd thought to go back to Dean, but she didn't want to disturb him. And a beer had sounded so good in the moment. She'd washed the few blood stains from Jo left on her hands before starting to drink, alone, which hadn't exactly helped the situation. But she shook the thought of the pinkish-red water going down the drain of the kitchen sink, trying to anchor herself in the moment.

He took stock of her injuries, beginning with the dark purple bruises just above her collarbones, from the hellhound's weight. He brought his hands to her waist and turned her around, gingerly touching the mess of dark blues and blacks in the middle of her spine where she'd hit the tree.

It was Dean's turn next. He'd made it out in better shape, but his right shoulder looked about as good as her back where Lucifer had slammed him into his own tree. She could barely make out his covering of freckles over the bruises.

Melissa's body shook with relief when they hopped into the warm water together. He held her loosely around the waist, her back facing the water. He hoped it would ease some of the stiffness he knew must be setting in.

"How are you doing?" she asked him quietly.

He scoffed. "Ain't so good, baby. But I'll survive."

 _Maybe_ , she thought immediately, and tried not to show it on her face. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah, I guess. But I wanna talk about what happened last night more. You scared the hell outta me," he admitted in a husky voice, looking down at her through the steamy air.

She sighed heavily. "Just...I feel like it's my fault. And every time we lose someone in a way like that...I feel like I'm losing Rosie all over again. I feel like I'm burning up her locket again, sending her spirit east Jesus nowhere, as far as I'm concerned. I feel it...everywhere."

"I wish you knew it wasn't your fault," he said, looking so intensely into her eyes it made her feel entirely unmasked. "You told Jo to stay back. You told her. I was there. And did you mean for it to happen?"

She sighed again, turning her head down and leaning onto his bare chest. Feeling his heart beating beneath his anti-possession tattoo, she replied a defeated, "No."

There was a beat of silence and the breath almost caught in her throat as she blurted out, "It should've been me."

Pained creases formed at her brow and she couldn't bring herself to look at him as she tried to hold back her tears.

Dean's face fell and his heart sank at the thought of losing her. At the thought that she felt she deserved to be lost.

"Hey, look at me," he whispered almost as a demand. She slowly brought her eyes up to meet his again, blushing furiously as a few of her stray tears mixed with the water. "I never wanna hear that again. You, Melissa Lowry, are a good person. You're a badass hunter. Honey, you got dealt a real crappy hand in life, but hey, look, you're still here, playin' it. And I am so thankful you're playin' it next to me. You save my life everyday."

From her eyes he could tell she didn't believe him. Hell, he knew if the roles were reversed he wouldn't believe himself either.

"And all that shit last night about me not touching you? I don't wanna hear that again either. Or we're gonna have a much longer talk. I know that for so long people made you feel like you didn't deserve anything. I know you _think_ you don't deserve anything. But you...deserve everything…" he said breathlessly, caressing her cheeks.

She shook her head slightly.

"You deserve to be touched...and kissed...and held…" he trailed off, wrapping his arms around her tightly as she started to sob against him.

He knew then words were no use today. She'd had a rough night, as rough as any he could remember having with her. Maybe that was it. Maybe _all_ she needed was his touch. Maybe after years of going at it alone, all she needed was for someone to hang onto.

She felt wobbly and unstable, and clung to Dean for dear life. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone, even Allen. But what happened then? What always happened? She couldn't tell him she didn't buy a word he said. For his sake, she would pretend. She didn't need to be another problem in his life. Especially not now. She figured she could keep the anxiety at bay with a little more concentration and a lot more alcohol. She wouldn't let her exterior crack in front of him again, feeling out of place crying to anyone, let alone someone who others relied on so heavily. For herself, too, she would pretend. She needed to be strong, for Dean, for Sam, for the world.

Eventually, her tears subsided as a new mantra began floating around her head. _Fake it till you make it_.

 **Author's Note:** So yeah, this is a monster chapter in length. We've finally got Lucifer and Crowley and a couple horsemen, but don't worry, there will be more of them in the future.

I'd like to emphasize that the descriptions in this chapter are based only on my own experience with anxiety and panic attacks, and are not meant to offend anyone.

We got pretty heavy here, but the next chapter will likely be a bit lighter. Then again, _Supernatural_ does tend toward heaviness quite a bit, so we'll see where we end up.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you liked this chapter!

Thank you so much to _**Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , and _**LoveFiction2019**_ for reviewing the last chapter. I'm so glad to hear y'all are still excited about the story. I know I am and I'm so happy to be back posting again!

PLEASE let me know what you thought of this installment in a review down below.

Peace and love.


	65. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Disclaimer** **:** _Supernatural_ and all its characters belong to _The CW_ and Eric Kripke.

 _Suggested Songs:_

\- " **Wonderful Tonight"** by Eric Clapton

\- " **Love Ain't For Keeping"** by The Who

\- " **Tangerine"** by Led Zeppelin

\- " **God's Gonna Cut You Down"** by Johnny Cash

 _ **Warning:**_ _This chapter contains references to drug use and death which may be triggering to some readers._

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine**

She narrowed her eyes at herself in the mirror. Dark but subtle eye makeup, bright red lipstick, plucked eyebrows. She didn't recognize the person looking back at her. When Dean had asked her to go out for a formal dinner two days before Valentine's Day, at first she had burst out in laughter. It had truly sounded like a joke. But his face fell almost imperceptibly at the sound of her giggles, and she immediately apologized.

"C'mon...like normal people. Just for a night," he had said.

And she'd smirked, responding, "Only if there's no ring for me to choke on in the champagne."

But now, she felt like she shouldn't have agreed. She'd bought a cheap curling iron, making her shoulder-length hair look shorter than she was used to. She'd even gotten a haircut in preparation and some little fringy things on either side of her forehead. She looked like a real woman, like she'd put on a costume. Not that she hated it or anything, it just gave her a weird feeling in her stomach.

She sighed as she zipped up her red dress, the hemline at her knees with a slit running up her thigh. She smoothed the cap sleeves over her shoulders and blew out a breath. A real date, which she hadn't been on in what felt like forever. Slipping her feet into her black FBI heels, she had to remind herself it was only Dean. Dean who she saw everyday and who knew about the cloud-shaped birthmark on her ass. Nothing to be nervous about.

The bathroom door opened with a creak, and she cleared her throat again nervously as she made her way back into the tacky motel room. Two double beds, of course. All the one-couple rooms were already taken for Valentine's day. There was a flask hidden under her pillow, full of aged whiskey. Dean had only made a couple comments about her uptick in alcohol since Jo and Ellen's death three months before, but hadn't been quite his normal level of over-concerned. It made her grateful; maybe he could tell now when she needed space. Maybe that's why he'd asked her to fancy dinner out of the blue.

"No laughing," she announced walking into the room's yellowy light.

She released a breath almost in relief when she saw only Sam at the table on his laptop.

"Oh, thank god," she said, flopping down onto the end of a bed.

"What?" he muttered, glancing up at her for only a moment. He eyed her again after processing her change in appearance. "Wow."

She ran her hands through her hair anxiously, stopping only when she remembered she didn't want to undo the curls. "Don't say anything, Sam, or I'll hunt you."

"Hey, I think you look good," he said tentatively.

"Thank you for your confidence, my friend," she replied with a kind smile.

"You sure don't sound it," he chuckled.

"I'll get there. Where's Dean?" she asked.

Sam only shrugged. "I don't know. He got ready but then he freaked out and said he forgot something?"

"Cold feet?" she countered.

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry, Mel, you'll be fine. Just go be a regular couple for awhile."

She scoffed. "Regular? Never." She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "Why's he doin' this? I bet you know, little Winchester."

"Oh my god. Never call me that again," he told her sternly, looking back to the bluish light of his screen.

"Only if you tell me what Dean's up to wantin' to take me out like this," she shot back with an eyebrow raised.

A knock came on the door before the standoff could continue. Melissa's head cocked up and she grabbed the nearest handgun before she made her way to the door, her heels clicking almost silently on the linoleum floor. She looked to Sam and he nodded a little. She gave him a knowing look and threw open the door, her hands gripping the weapon tightly.

"Woah," Dean's startled croak came from the other side.

Melissa immediately lowered her weapon, looking down in relief. She clicked the safety down and set it down next to some keys on the table by the door. "Jesus. Sorry, baby."

"It's okay," he said with a dismissive shake of his head, but blushing a little at her use of the nickname in front of Sam. She gave an apologetic smile.

"Why'd you knock, asshat?!" she exclaimed goodnaturedly.

"To be a gentleman!" he shot back, a sardonic smile on his face to match hers.

But then, he had time to look her up and down. His eyes were starry. "You look…"

"Ridiculous," she finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest self consciously.

He breathed out a dreamy sigh. "So beautiful," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.

"You too," she replied. He wore a white button-down and black pants, patent leather shoes, hair not exactly gelled but not quite as unruly as normal. In one hand, he held a bouquet of daisies.

"I'm here to pick you up, m'lady," he said in a mock accent, topping it off with a bow.

She giggled giddily and blushed, like she was someone else. Clicking the heels together and picking up her purse, she outstretched an arm for him to link with, grabbing the flowers as he held them out to her. "Good sir."

As she allowed Dean to lead her towards the parking lot, Sam bid them a happy farewell, marveling at the two of them fully indulging themselves.

"'Night," Melissa yelled over her shoulder. "Go out and get lucky."

Dean snorted as she slammed the door shut with her foot behind her.

"I love a classy lady."

. . .

Melissa had managed not to piss off the waiter with her sass by the dessert course, and she was proud of herself. She was sleepy from the steak they'd shared, but kept filling up on bites of chocolate pie. Dean was on top of the world, chowing down on his pie. Melissa smiled at his happiness, and took one stocking foot out of her heel to run up his leg. Redness spread over his cheeks and he winked at her wolfishly.

Glasses clinked all around them. The holiday was two nights away, but there were several other couples pregaming like them. Dark red walls and a black and white floral carpet, the place looked swanky. The menu was a tad expensive, but what was the point of credit card fraud without splurging every once in a while? She smelled the air full of vanilla from the candle lit in between them on the white tablecloth. The best she'd had as a child was the occasional greasy spoon diner with milky chocolate ice cream. She felt like the only human in a room full of martians.

"So," she began, wiping at the corners of her mouth gently with the cloth napkin, hoping not to disturb her lipstick, "really, gorgeous, what's this all about?"

He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this. What's with the daisies I know you stole from a yard; nice cop, by the way; and the dinner, and everything. I don't know. Seems like you're up to something, Winchester," she said playfully.

He shrugged. "Thought a night out might be fun. I know you love daisies. I found this place online, Sam's computer of course. And then, that's it."

She groaned at him, still smiling. "I know you well enough, Dean. Is this that kind of thing where you want to let me off easy so you treat me to something nice first?"

"No, Missy, of course not," he assured her, reaching his hand across the table to lay over hers. She looked absolutely radiant in the candlelight. "I just-"

He paused to sigh in defeat. Perhaps it wasn't wise thinking she would just let all of it slide without question. She'd never been that kind of woman.

"I know it's been rough for all of us since...Ellen and Jo," he said. He stopped to glance at her, but her expression was unreadable. There was only a small crease between her brows, showing she was listening intently.

Inside, her stomach flipped. She remembered the feel of Jo's weakening body against her chest, carrying her to the hardware store in Missouri. A warm rush of sticky, dark blood could almost be felt against her palms, and she swallowed hard. She knew it was only her imagination.

"So I just thought we could do something nice and...normal...for Valentine's," Dean continued.

Melissa narrowed her eyes teasingly at him during his silence, not willing to relent. Pressing his lips together, he knew she would win the staring contest, always the hardass. His face softened, but looked suddenly a little sad, she noticed. She grabbed his hand fully and squeezed it.

He sighed, then spoke in a wistful, husky voice she often only heard from him just after waking.

"Y'know, a couple weeks ago I had a dream. We were livin' on some coast somewhere. I was home from fixin' a car at some garage. You were on our screen porch drawing, watching the ocean. I brought us iced tea and felt a baby kick in your belly…"

Her heart glowed as she watched him speak, his eyes drifting off to watch some perfect land out of sight. But her breath also hitched in her throat, knowing what he dreamt was an impossibility.

"You ever think about somethin' like that? All domestic?" he asked softly, fearful of her answer. He added hastily, "Not that I mean marriage. If you don't want it, I couldn't care less. I just mean...a house, nine-to-fives, 'How was your day, honey?'"

Looking down at her silverware, grabbing his other hand, she managed a bleak smile. "We can't, though, can we?"

"But it'd be nice."

"Yeah," she nearly whispered. "Yeah, it would be nice."

Dean's eyes got misty, and he gulped. "No. I know. Not with the whole 'we need to save the world' thing going on. But after?"

She looked up with a raised eyebrow. "After?"

He nodded. "When Sammy's safe and the devil's back in the box. If we get there. Just drive off somewhere till we reach the ocean...live like normal. Like we're pretending to right now."

"With me? I don't know if I could live normal again," she said sadly. Then, after a beat of silence, "Why don't you talk about Lisa?"

Dean stopped dead in his tracks and retracted his suddenly sweaty hands. It was a question he never expected.

"I mean I talk about Allen sometimes, maybe not so much anymore but…" she averted his eyes again as she rambled. "I just...Sam mentioned her once a long time ago, before we were really together. I don't know. Sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird but I always manage to somehow…"

She put one hand over her face, then stopped a moment to peek through her long fingers. His mouth was set tensely, his eyes searching for an answer he didn't have.

"I don't know...she had a life and a kid and I liked her...but I didn't fit. _We_ didn't fit together," he explained.

"If you had some different life...would you have fit?" she asked quietly.

He didn't hesitate. "No, Missy. You're who I fit with. You're the only one I really fit with."

"Even though I...panic." Shame burned on the apples of her cheeks beneath her subtle rouge.

His face softened. "You never once thought less of me after hell, all you did was take care of me. I promise I will _never_ think less of you for that or anything else. I just wanna take care of you, honey. I just want you to let me in."

She scoffed. "I don't need takin' care of, Dean."

He blew out a short breath. "Believe me, I know. But if you'll let me."

"Okay," she replied, smiling softly. "Okay. I'm sorry. It's not that I doubt you...I just doubt myself sometimes. But really...I believe you."

"'S alright," he told her easily.

"But seriously, I'm sorry. There's just parts of me...I feel like you don't wanna see."

A mischievous grin spread across his freckled face. "I wanna see all of you."

She smirked back. "Right now?"

. . .

As Melissa and Dean were having sex in the bathroom of the restaurant, and then in the Impala, two lovers in Illinois were devouring each other, literally. Eating each other alive...till death. So it was back in the car the next day, and by the morning after V-day, they were examining the hearts of the dearly departed from a first and second double suicide in fed get-ups and rubber gloves. The coroner's office smelled of formaldehyde and rubbing alcohol. Charming, to say the most.

Sam was inspecting the hearts from the first case, while Dean and Melissa had one heart each, from the second case, double suicide by shotgun, a little more cut and dry but more recent. Melissa's brow was set in determination as she inspected the heart closely, her trusty Buddy Holly glasses set on the bridge of her nose.

Dean smirked, holding out the heart to her in both hands. "Be my Valentine?"

She snickered. "Yeah, gorgeous. But only if you show me I'm your Valentine tonight."

Dean grinned and felt only a little flush cross his cheeks. The last few days had been better. She was letting him in, relaxing, like she so rarely did. She was like an ocean, coming in waves, touching him, touching his heart, then floating back out to sea periodically. Now, he could feel her warm tide rushing back towards him. She winked flirtatiously in response to his expression, then turned back to their work.

Looking to the other heart, she grabbed his wrist with her gloved hand. "Wait. These hearts have the same mark on them."

Sam perked his head up. "Let's see." He rushed over and took one from them in each hand, bringing them under the microscope. "Oh no."

"What?" Dean eyed him in questioning.

"It's some kind of letter. I think it's Enochian."

"Angel scratches, huh? You mean like the tagging on our ribs?" the eldest Winchester asked.

"Dean, I don't know," Sam shrugged.

Sighing heavily, Dean tugged off his gloves and took his phone from his pocket, muttering something under his breath Melissa assumed was explicit. He paced the room shortly as he dialled.

"Hey, Cas, it's Dean. Yeah, room C-31, basement level... Medical Center."

Castiel appeared before Dean's face inaudibly. "I'm there now."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean replied flatly.

Cas stared awkwardly at Dean for a moment. "I'm gonna hang up now."

"Right," Dean said shortly.

Melissa smiled down into the hearts, elbowing Sam, who chuckled next to her. She had to admit, Castiel had been growing on her a little in the last couple months. She could tell he was making an effort, and it mattered a lot to her.

The angel picked up one of the hearts with his bare hand, blood smearing on his skin. He only looked at the organ for a moment with furrowed brows before announcing, "You're right, Sam. These are angelic marks. I imagine you'll find similar marks on the other couples' hearts as well."

"Well, what are they? What do they mean?" Melissa chimed in.

"It's a mark of union. This man and this woman were intended to mate," Castiel explained.

"Who put it there?"

"Well," the angel said, looking up at the three of them, "your people call them 'Cupid.'"

"A what?" Sam squeaked.

"What human myth has mistaken for Cupid is actually a lower order of angel. Technically, it's a cherub, third-class," Castiel continued.

"Cherub?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, they're all over the world," Cas said. "There are dozens of them."

"You mean the little flying fat kid in diapers?" Dean piped up again.

"They're not incontinent," Cas told him, stone faced.

Sam shook his head a little. "Okay, anyway. So, what are you saying, Cas?"

"What I'm saying is a Cupid has gone rogue and we have to stop him...before he kills again."

Melissa nodded, a passive look on her face. "Of course we do."

. . .

Later, the four of them sat at a booth in the back corner of a family restaurant, adorned with shiny red, tacky decorations for Valentine's. Melissa tapped her fingers against the table anxiously, her stomach fluttering. She felt hot in her leather jacket, but knew goosebumps would rise on her skin if she took it off. Since the afternoon, she'd felt off. Vaguely carsick, shaky. But they hadn't eaten since early in the morning, and figured she was probably just hungry. Dean brought his hand on top of hers.

"Okay, you gotta stop," he said in playful annoyance. Sam and Cas looked around the restaurant suspiciously, watching for any couples in danger of double cannibalism. "I got one."

"Shoot," she replied, raking her hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. A few booths down, a couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, all gentle touches and sweet nothings. She eyed them.

"Worst Valentine's date ever?"

A grin spread across her face and she barked out one husky chuckle.

She cleared her throat and began, still keeping watch on the couple. "Okay, um...I was seventeen. Young hunter, y'know. Finished up a job with this father-son team. His old man went prowling wherever old men go, and the son asked me out for a drink. Said we should celebrate the holiday and the victory."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Seventeen?"

She shrugged. "There's a lot a fake ID can get you in this world, Dean."

By this time, Sam and Cas were listening in, and Sam chuckled heartily.

"Anyway," she said, taking a sip of her water, "I was in the back, winnin' a game of poker against these assholes. Got five hundred dollars at the end, but I came back out and he's makin' out with some leggy blonde at the bar."

"What a dick!" Dean exclaimed.

She shrugged and smirked slyly. "It's alright. I stole his wallet and his car."

Both brothers cracked up, Dean throwing his head back. He could totally imagine it, Melissa off on her own, breaking hearts and taking names at every turn. They were still in fits of giggles when the waitress brought over their food. Sam, a salad, Dean, a burger, and Melissa some spaghetti. She popped a couple painkillers in her mouth and gulped them down.

"You got a headache?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, just a little. I'm fine," Melissa assured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. Dean nodded stiffly, then began spreading a generous amount of ketchup on his burger.

"So, you just happen to know Cupid likes the food here?" Melissa asked the angel, hoping to distract Dean. Sometimes, he had a tendency to get over concerned when she or Sam were feeling at all out of sorts.

"What about my answer?" Dean piped up in disappointment.

"Tell me tonight," Melissa told him quietly with a wink. Dean pouted, but accepted it. He had to admit, he was getting pretty comfortable having the old Melissa back.

"This place is a nexus of human reproduction. It's exactly the kind of…" Castiel paused for a moment to look hungrily at Dean's burger, "...of garden Cupid comes to...to pollinate."

Melissa furrowed her brows at the angel, then at Dean as he put his burger back down and slid it away from him, disinterested.

"Wait a minute. You're not hungry?" Sam asked his brother.

"No," Dean replied flatly, then looked surprised at Sam and Melissa's looks. "What? I'm not hungry."

Melissa put the back of her hand to his forehead. "You feeling okay?" she asked mockingly.

"Get off," he mumbled, swatting her away.

"Then you're not gonna finish that?" Cas asked, pulling the burger towards him.

Sam faced Melissa from across the table. "What the hell is happening?"

"I have no idea," she answered.

Suddenly, Castiel perked up and stared at the couple Melissa had been watching. "He's here."

"Where? I don't see anything," Sam said.

"There," Cas told them pointedly.

"Oh," Dean turned his head from Melissa's left, "you mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?"

"Meet me in the back," Cas ordered, then disappeared silently.

. . .

They rushed to the back of the restaurant, finding Castiel stood near a wall lined with shelves, his hand out in front of him.

"Cas, where is he?" Sam asked.

"I have him tethered," the angel answered, then beginning to chant in Enochian. "Manifest yourself!"

When nothing happened, Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Where is he?"

Out of nowhere, a pudgy, mostly nude man attacked Dean from behind with a tight hug. Dean rocked forward with an "oof!"

"Help!" the older Winchester pleaded breathlessly.

"Oh, help is on the way. Yes it is! Yes it is! Hello, you!" the man practically yelled, plopping Dean down and then turning to his fellow angel.

"Oh. Okay," Cas breathed out flatly as the man squeezed him.

"This is Cupid?" Melissa asked as the man released Cas and turned to her. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as she was wrapped in the man's arms.

"Yes," Cas replied. It was only when Cupid let her go that Melissa noticed the ache in her muscles, all over her body. She wondered if she had been feeling it all day.

"And look at you, huh?" Cupid smiled widely at Sam, who tried to run away but was unsuccessful.

"Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?" Dean questioned Cas fervently.

"This is...their handshake," Cas said.

"I don't like it," Dean growled.

"No one likes it."

. . .

Staring down at the briefcase in the afternoon light, Melissa tried to ignore the pounding in her head, ringing in her ears. She breathed deeply. Cupid, as it turned out, was innocent, so they were back to square one. But Sam had finally gotten them a possible lead. Leaving the medical center looking over another weird death, a guy who ate until his stomach burst, Sam ran into a demon and came away lucky, with a bloody demon knife and a mysterious briefcase. She bit her bottom lip, trying to focus. For the first time in a while, she'd felt more open with Dean. With all of them. Something about the dinner, something about knowing Dean thought about their nonexistent future, made her feel more secure for some reason. Of course, right after, this weird migraine episode or whatever it was had to come over her.

"What the hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?" Dean spoke their thoughts aloud. Melissa, Cas, and Dean had all stayed behind to do research.

"Believe me, I got no idea," Sam replied with a shrug. Melissa cast him a glance. He looked flushed, and there was something about his voice she didn't like.

"You okay?" she asked, her hands on her hips. She fiddled with her belt beneath its loops.

"Yeah, I'll be alright," he told her.

"Let's crack her open," Dean proposed. "What's the worst that could happen, right?"

Melissa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to release the pressure. " _Why_ must you jinx it, Dean?"

Ignoring her worries, Dean only shrugged at her and opened the shiny black case. Instantly, a flash of light shot out in a stream towards the ceiling, and then was gone.

"Whoa!"

"Jeez!"

"What the hell was that?!" Melissa yelled, nearly jumping out of her skin.

"It's a human soul. It's starting to make sense," Castiel said dryly from behind them. They turned, and the angel had at some point acquired another bag of burgers to chow down on.

"What about that makes sense?" Sam asked in annoyance.

"And when did you start eating?" Dean furrowed his brows.

"Exactly. My hunger. It's a clue, actually," Cas explained through his full mouth.

"Please just spit it out, angelboy," Melissa prodded.

In response, Cas opened his mouth and let the chewed up burger fall to the cracked wooden motel floor.

After a moment of silence, Melissa got her bearings. "No...that's not...not what I mea-"

"Okay," Dean put his hand up. "What's it a clue for?"

"This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect. It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact...specifically, famine."

"Famine," Melissa said. "As in the horseman?"

"Great," Dean groaned. "That...that's freaking great."

"I thought famine meant starvation, like, as in, you know, food," Sam said.

"Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems be starving for something-sex, attention, love, drugs," Castiel listed, gesturing to Melissa on the last word. She ran a hand through her hair nervously.

Cas went onto explain how the lovers ate each other to begin with, and how his vessel Jimmy's appetite for red meat had been touched by Famine, triggering his craving for burgers.

"So, Famine just rolls into town and everyone goes crazy?" Dean asked.

"'And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty and great will be the horseman's hunger, for he is hunger,'" Cas quoted. "'His hunger will seep out and poison the air.'"

Melissa thought she remembered it from Sunday school as a child, and a chill ran through her. Revelations had been her least favorite Bible story when she was younger. The haze in her brain was apparently also bringing up unwanted memories, along with headaches.

"Famine is hungry. He must devour the souls of his victims."

"So that's what was in the briefcase? A soul?" Dean asked.

"Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, to make certain he'll be ready," Cas said.

"Ready for what?" Sam chimed in.

"To march across the land."

. . .

Clearing her throat, Melissa entered the open bathroom door. Sam stood red faced in front of the grimy mirror, pressing a washcloth to his face and neck. Dean and Cas were bickering about the plan to snatch Famine's ring and the angel's new ground beef addiction at the rickety table. Sam glanced at her in the mirror but said nothing. She ambled over, boots trodding heavily on the black tile floor.

"Can I borrow that?" she asked quietly, holding out a trembling hand.

He nodded. "Sure."

She put the cool cloth straight to her forehead, almost letting out an involuntary moan at the sensation on her burning skin. Now, she was remembering, remembering the feeling. Withdrawal.

"How ya feeling?" she asked the younger Winchester as she switched the washcloth to the back of her neck.

"Not so good."

She handed it back to him and nodded, dizzy. "Me too. Is it the demon blood?"

"Yeah," he replied, crestfallen. "What was it for you? Back in the day?"

She shrugged and smiled ruefully, not quite meeting his eyes. "Anything I could get my hands on."

He nodded back. "We gotta tell Dean."

She sighed heavily, putting her head down and bracing herself on the sink. "I know."

Sam tossed the cloth into the porcelain basin and left her alone for a minute. Dean was just announcing a "Let's roll!" to the two of them, ready to search out another death or briefcase-carrying demon and follow it to the source, when Sam emerged from the bathroom.

"Dean...I, um...I can't...can't go," Melissa heard Sam say sheepishly.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. She could practically hear the frustrated crease forming between his brows.

"I think it got to me, Dean. I think I'm hungry for it…"

"Hungry for what?"

"You know," Sam told him.

"Demon blood?"

Melissa watched Sam hang his head in shame from the doorjamb of the bathroom, not quite ready to admit defeat as well, all the answer Dean needed to understand.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean said, turning to Cas. "You've gotta get him outta here. Beam him to, like, Montana. Anywhere but here."

"It won't work. He's already infected. The hunger will just travel with him," the angel explained.

"Well then, what do we do?" Dean looked between the two of them helplessly.

"You go cut that bastard's finger off," Sam urged them darkly.

Dean half-shrugged, half-nodded. "You heard him," he told Castiel.

"But, Dean...before you go...you better lock me down good."

Melissa sighed through her nose, finally coming out from the bathroom. "I'm sorry...me too."

"Missy, what?" Dean asked.

"I'm…" she paused to sigh. "It's in me. I'm hungry for…"

Dean's face fell. He'd almost forgotten. "Well, looks like you're _both_ stayin' home sick."

. . .

The sink was leaky, and the steady _drip, drip, drip_ was starting to drive Melissa insane. Dean had handcuffed them to each side of the sink's main pipe, Melissa near the bath and Sam near the door. It was odd, feeling this feeling she hadn't experienced since she was young. Back when she and Allen lived above the tattoo shop, and she thought she could make it as a relatively normal person. Back before she knew about the angels' intervention. Back when she was wearing her sister's ghost unknowingly around her neck. She struggled against the cuffs as she thought about the past, remembering what it felt like to scratch all her itches immediately. Her muscles screamed, her blood pumped, and the metal bit into the pale skin of her wrists.

"Sam?" she asked weakly.

He swallowed harshly. "Yeah?" He sounded out of breath.

"You think you could ever live like a regular guy? Kids and career and everything?"

There was a beat of silence before his reply. "No. Not anymore."

"Me neither," she croaked. "Didn't work for me then, won't work for me now."

"Why do you ask?" he said, and she could hear the metal of his own restraints screeching against the pipe.

She shrugged, not wanting to reveal she and Dean's conversation. Though he had seemed to know something before dinner the other night. "No reason."

Her blood boiled and a wave of shakes passed over her. Her temperature felt like it was rising by the second. She looked over at the door, for a moment ignoring all her rational thought and letting her intense, gnawing want overcome her being. Again, the handcuffs dug into her skin and she felt the sweat begin to trickle down her face. Her whole body was on fire. Sinking back against the wall, she sighed heavily. Closing her eyes, she saw Dean. She saw his mouth and the stubble on his jaw and the curve of his spine when he lay naked on his stomach next to her. And all at once, she a different kind of wanting washed over her. Everything in her body was making her sick, everything in her mind making her horny. She felt truly low, nothing but a pitiful creature of need.

A buzzing noise erupted in her head, and her vision got blurry. She knew the feeling.

"Sam, I'm…" she managed, before she passed out cold.

. . .

She awoke to a commotion, and was met with the unpleasant sight of a bloody-mouthed Sam beating up a demon, another one already dead and dripping on the floor in front of her. Grimacing, she shifted and leaned far forward.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, but he didn't look at her as he flung the female demon against a wall somewhere in the motel room, which she couldn't see from her small window out the door frame.

The demon let out a horrible, gut-wrenching scream, and Melissa struggled against the cuffs, looking frantically around the room for anything to break herself free from the sink. Beads of sweat popped out on her scarlet skin, still dangerously overheated from the fever. Trying to search the demon for any weapons was made especially difficult by her clunky boots, which she couldn't reach to untie.

"Dammit! Sam, stop! It's a trap! That's why they let you out!" she screamed, not needing to look around the room much to see infer what the situation had been. Sam's handcuffs were strewn near the dead man in front of her, followed by a key.

"Shut up, Mel! I have to get Dean out of this!" he yelled back, but sounding weak. He was somewhere else in the room now, his mouth halfway full from the sound of it. The demon probably wasn't dead yet, but she knew even better than Dean how Sam could knock a demon out with his mind faster than her fever had.

She was still attempting to coax him back, begging her to come talk to her of at least let her come with. He refused, saying she would ruin it and shoot up. Though she hated to admit it, he was probably right on that front. But still, nothing could prevent the loud door slam after the demon was gone, probably shaking the entire motel. He was juiced up.

She banged her head back against the wall. "Fuck!"

. . .

Even though Sam had managed to resist his urges when Famine confronted him, pulling all the souls from the horseman's form instead of drinking the blood of the demons surrounding them, he still needed to dry out. The ring was theirs, but the damage was done, and it was back to Bobby's panic room for the younger Winchester brother. Melissa had known Famine only wanted Sam to indulge so he could be ready for Lucifer, and couldn't help but feel the familiar sting of betrayal when Dean had filled her in later. When Dean was gone, Sam had never listened to her, and the demon blood was certainly no help. She had felt it on almost an elemental level when the boys cut off Famine's ring, all feelings of withdrawal leaving her at once, but her pride was still bruised. Memories from her past were almost never welcome.

"You sure you don't have a fever anymore?" Dean asked her, watching her wash her face in the mirror of Bobby's guest bathroom. Her hair was pulled back messily and she was dressed in her drab henley and jeans. She looked up and wondered if Dean ever wished for the woman in the red dress rather than her.

"Yes, Dean, jesus," she told him, bringing a hand towel to her face with a dismissive chuckle.

"Hey! I was really worried," he shot back in agitation, his arms crossed and a crease between his brows.

She brushed past him back into the living room, hoping Sam's screams wouldn't be quite as loud as they had been a couple hours before. "Well, that's what an apple pie life with me would get you."

He followed her, his socked feet pounding heavily on the floor. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She turned back to him and sighed. "It means _that_ is what I was like before I was a hunter. I was a pathetic little junkie. I was moody and weak and I probably would've choked on my own puke before I was twenty."

He raised his eyebrows as if to say, " _And_?" Running a hand through her hair, she uttered a frustrated huff.

"I know you'd love rugrats and a picket fence, but I just can't do it again. I can't…"

"You can't what? You can't really commit to me?"

She stared at him hard for a minute, then stomped out back to the screened-in porch. "Fuck off, Dean."

He was shaking his head at her back tensely as he pursued her still, slamming the door behind them. She didn't face him, going to lean on the fair railing and look out over the dry grass. The day had been warm for February, but the sunlight was waning. It was chilly and the air bit at the pale apples of her cheeks.

"Would you quit running away from me?" he asked, raising his voice a little now.

She rolled her eyes and spun around, leaning her back against the rusty screen. She hadn't been out here much since her younger years. The space was small, only containing a musty, floral porch swing. But it had a great view of the stars when the night got dark enough.

"Okay, fine. What the hell do you want me to say?" she snapped.

"Just...why are you making such a big deal outta this? I just...I thought it would be nice if we ever had a chance to get outta this life-"

"But, we can't, Dean. Okay? _I_ can't. I've done it already."

"I wasn't saying we do it. I was just bringing it up!" he yelled defensively.

"Oh, please, Dean. It's the first I've heard you really want something in years. You don't want anything else. You know how I know? Because Famine was two feet away from you, and Cas said you were perfectly fine," she argued, gesturing wildly with her hands as she sometimes did.

"I just want you!"

"You have me, Dean. But I'm not enough, apparently."

"Do I really have you, Missy? Because you run off alone every chance you get!"

"What, just because we're together I have to spend every second with you? I did it, Dean. I had a job and an apartment. And Allen was so sick and he was gone before I even knew it and that was all when we were norm-"

"My god, Melissa, I'm not Allen!" he roared. She took a step back, eyeballing him widely. It was almost certain Bobby could hear them by now.

They both jumped when Melissa's phone rang suddenly. She looked away, sniffed and cleared her throat and she tugged the phone from her back pocket. "Yeah?...Okay...Where?...Yeah, we're on it. Bye."

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Salt-n-burn a couple hours away. Mark's had to run out quick for vamp nest, couldn't finish it. C'mon, let's let Bobby babysit the kid," she informed him shortly.

Before he even had a chance to respond, she was back inside, telling Bobby the plan. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. They had only spent one night back at Bobby's, and they were already off again. And the car ride wasn't exactly bound to be fun.

. . .

"Hurry the hell up, asshat!" Melissa pleaded, wielding the salt gun to the best of abilities in the pitch-black graveyard in the west corner of North Dakota.

The hunt wasn't the easiest she'd ever been on, but it was pretty damn close. Mark knew the site of the grave, they just had to get there and get it done. In truth, she felt good blowing off some steam after the silent car ride. Dean had played Led Zeppelin at a low volume, white-knuckling the steering wheel as they gave each other the silent treatment. Still though, she'd had a hand on his knee as he drove, and he didn't push her off. They had never made it a habit of ignoring each other physically when the fights weren't blowouts. They may not talk, but if either of them went to bed angry with the other they were still asleep in each other's arms within minutes.

The ghost was a real piece of work, a robber whose young son had been killed accidentally by another boy in the town, back again on the hundred year anniversary of his boy's death to pick off members of the offending boy's bloodline. He'd taken out three people already, one of them a little girl, and was really giving it to Melissa. They'd been digging the grave together at first, but the grimy old ghost had shown up halfway through. She'd heard Dean hit the coffin a minute before, and his lighter was struggling to ignite.

"I'm getting there!" he yelled in frustration, staring down at the skeleton, a lighter in one hand and some salt in the other. "Dammit!"

She held the gun in front of her, but then he came up from behind, flinging her forward with his inhuman strength. While flying through the air, she spun slightly and dropped the gun, but thought she saw the ghost begin to ignite.

A sickening _crack_ sounded in the cold night air as her head smacked against the edge of a granite gravestone. Dean heard it even over the burning spirit's screams. He climbed out of the hole they'd dug clumsily, seeing her laid out on her side, arms out in front of her.

He ran, reaching her in seconds though she'd traveled a considerable distance. The spirit must've been especially powerful, maybe because of his criminal experience in life. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw her. Not because of the blood leaking from her temple. Not because of the odd angle of one of her legs. Because her eyes were open, they were blank. Gone was the dancing blue, replaced now by empty ice.

His hands started shaking instantly, though he tried to steady them to feel her pulse, hoping against hope he would feel something, anything. If it was weak, strong, fast, slow, anything. They could get past it, he was sure, as long as she was still with him.

"No, no, no, no," he spoke rapidly, feeling nothing beneath his fingers, no sign of a heartbeat. He switched to her wrist, then her chest, then felt for breath beneath her nose. Nothing.

"Missy! Wake the hell up!" he screamed, practically in her face. He waited a beat, and she still stared up at the stars, dead. Just dead. One wrong hit on the corner of a gravestone, and he hadn't even had the chance to save her. Everything black in a second. He brought her body into his lap, squeezing her as if the pressure would bring her back to life. If he loved her hard enough, maybe she would come back to him.

"C'mon, baby…" he whispered, thinking of all the times he'd seen her hit a gravestone while killing a ghost. All the times he had. Never once had it been more than a broken rib or a bad bruise. Why her?

Tears began to drip down his frosty cheeks and chin. He looked around for a moment, feeling so completely alone. Sam was in the panic room. Bobby was sitting at home in his wheelchair, Cas unable to heal him with his heaven powers cut off. No hope for Melissa on the angel healing front. To pray, he knew, would be of no use now. What angel would resurrect _Eve_? He shivered. He thought of having to tell them, to say the words. It didn't feel real. So quick, he could hardly comprehend it. Looking back down at her face, he almost choked. His heart pounded as he closed her eyes gently, then wiped at the blood still streaming from the side of her head. When he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin had already begun to go cold.

 **Author's Note:** Hello again. I know this chapter was a lot. Just bear with me. Thank you for sticking with it and reading! I hope you liked this chapter despite its grim material.

Thank you so much to _**Purplestan**_ , _**bjq**_ , _**SaphyraBlu13**_ , and _**LoveFiction2019**_ for your lovely reviews! I'd love you hear what you thought of this installment.

PLEASE leave a review below and let me know what you thought.

Peace and love.


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